Everything I know
by cornishbluepixie
Summary: "Mistress Hecate Broomhead was my personal tutor at witch training college. She more or less taught me everything I know" The arrival of Hecate Broomhead, OffWitch Inspector at Cackle's Academy causes panic for Miss Hardbroom. Her history with Mistress Broomhead is one she would rather forget... ( based on 1998 CITV Worst Witch)
1. Chapter 1

"Constance! Please! At least tell us who this woman is for goodness sake!"

Amelia Cackle felt a flutter of panic as she watched the tall, imposing and usually unflappable figure of her deputy retreat rapidly away from the staff room door. Amelia hurried her pace as her decidedly shorter legs struggled to keep up with Constance's long and rapid stride. Miss Bat and Miss Drill pursued them, the four women's footsteps creating an unruly symphony on the stone flags.

"If she has a reputation Constance," exclaimed Miss Bat "shouldn't we be warned?"

Constance Hardbroom stopped abruptly, inhaled deeply and whirled round to face her colleagues

"Mistress Hecate Broomhead" she began, struggling to keep her voice even "was my personal tutor at witch training college; she more or less taught me everything I know. She was quite the most thorough, demanding and relentless witch I've ever come across"

 _September 1982_

Hecate Broomhead surveyed the three rows of new undergraduates sat before her, each returning her stern gaze with nervous expectancy. The college didn't have a uniform beyond the cloak and hat for formal occasions but the girls were expected to wear black – the cloth of their calling. Already Hecate could see which girls were going to attempt to push the boundaries of this dress code. Her eyes scanned the room for the three girls of interest. Usually she wouldn't pay any attention to the new undergraduates – preferring only to teach more advanced magic, but this year's class had three promising talents. Hecate selected only the most talented girls to come under her personal tutelage; an honour she generally only bestowed upon third year girls who showed enough promise to proceed on to a further fourth year of additional study. On rare occasion she had been known to take on a second year a little early but it had never been heard of for her to show interest in the first years.

What happened in Hecate Broomhead's personal tutorials was largely unknown even to the college faculty. Girls who were selected to be tutored by undeniably one of the most accomplished witches of the age were sworn to secrecy about Mistress Broomhead's methods. The staff, however, caught enough in what was said or, rather, what wasn't said, to know that Hecate had some unorthodox and highly demanding methods. Indeed, the Dean of the college on more than one occasion had been tempted to step in but she could not deny that Hecate produced the college's most successful witches and the prestige that these accomplished alumni went on to bring for the college was not something they could afford to lose. However, when Hecate had expressed her interest in the new intake of witches there had been some disconcerted mummers. A more mature witch of twenty one with proven talent was thought far more able to endure the demands of Mistress Broomhead for one or two years if they went on to postgraduate study. New young witches, fresh from school were another matter entirely.

Hecate had needed to use all the persuasive tools in her power over the Summer break to get the dean to agree that she could meet the first years but she was unwilling to allow Hecate tutelage of all three girls at such an impressionable age. She finally agreed that Hecate could select one girl from the class who she could tutor initially on a six month trial basis. Hecate's steel gaze now scanned the class in front of her to identify the three girls which had been the subject of her summer long campaign.

The first, Celeste LeFey was easy to identify. She sat in the centre of the second row; her penetrating green eyes and cascade of auburn hair standing out starkly in the group of black clad girls. While the other girls sat upright, Celeste was leaning on one elbow, supporting her chin in her hands and she had about her the unmistakeable air of someone who was longing to escape the confines of her classroom for the late summer air. Celeste came from a highly renowned family of nature witches and had until this moment been entirely home schooled. In normal circumstances, Hecate would have been entirely against a home schooled witch being admitted as she felt they lacked the discipline which was instilled into girls from the best schools. However, it could not be denied that Celeste had excelled at the entrance examination and there were rumours circulating that she had performed magic in a style which none of the staff had seen before. This was enough to pique Hecate's interest although she had to admit that the girl's liberal upbringing, for which the LeFeys were renowned, alarmed her. She was uncertain that the girl had the discipline to abide by her rules and teachings. If there was one thing Hecate Broomhead detested, it was unruly and opinionated young witches.

The second girl was sat on the front row. Blonde hair swept into a neat ponytail and an unbowed and alert posture which indicated a childhood of privilege. Dorothy Pendle-Jones had achieved top marks from one of the most famous and expensive witching schools in the country. She came from a long line of well-educated witches. Her father was a magus on the wizarding council and her mother had inherited the Pendle family home from her doting father and had invested her not inconsiderable talent in becoming the witching world's most influential socialite. Her expensive hothouse style education would make her a perfect candidate to continue to expand her skills under Hecate's programme of study. Hecate was however slightly wary of such pampered girls who initially acted compliant in order to earn their tutor's favour but were often unwilling to bend to Hecate's rigorous regime and iron will.

The final girl was something of a dark horse. Sat in the back corner of the class room, Constance Hardbroom was a thin, pale girl with dark hair piled on top of her head in a severe bun. The hairstyle and her plain black dress had a slightly old fashioned air which made her appear much older than her seventeen years. Constance was a year younger than the other first year girls, having been skipped forward a year early on in her schooling. Her father was a rather well known inventor who was employed by the government and spent much of his time abroad. The girl's mother had died when she was an infant and her father, devastated at the loss of his wife and disappointed that he did not have the wizarding son he craved to continue his work, had enrolled the young Constance into boarding school as soon as he was able and accepted a government commission to the Amazon. This was the last Constance or anyone else had heard of him for many years. The young girl had spent her school holidays with under the care of an elderly great Aunt until she had passed away three years previously. This left Constance entirely alone in the world and her last three Summers had been spent largely secluded in the safe haven of her school library. She had attended the kind of school that Hecate Broomhead entirely disapproved of. It was far too common in Hecate's opinion for a witch with reasonable talents and a soft heart to pass these castle schools down the family line and run them with the minimum requirement of qualifications. Witches who did not strive for perfection in their own teaching could not be expected to instil excellence in their students. These witches had a tendency to coddle their students in Hecate's view, focusing more on their care and development than on the transferring of knowledge. However, on this occasion, she had to admit the school in question had exceeded her expectations. Constance Hardbroom was not only the youngest witch to ever be admitted to the college, she also had achieved the highest mark on the entrance examination for three decades.

The girl was now staring at Hecate entirely impassively, her dark eyes taking in the classroom without giving any indication of how she was feeling. Hecate cleared her throat and the volume in the classroom dropped from hushed anticipation to complete silence.

"Good morning. I am Mistress Broomhead and for most of you this will be the last time you enter my classroom until you study Level Six advanced spells and potion making in the third year. That is, those of you who make it that far. However, as you will be aware, each of you are assigned a personal tutor to guide you through your studies and a small number of students are given the honour of coming under my tutelage. Make no mistake, I only select the best and most promising witches, and this year I have decided to select one girl from the first year class. The girl who is chosen, if she applies herself, will remain under my tuition for the next four years. I do not have the time or patience for lazy, weak willed or undisciplined students."

Hecate surveyed the young witches in front of her once more. Some, like Celeste, were looking pale and worried while a small number, including Dorothy Pendle-Jones were looking back at her with calculated eagerness. Only Constance Hardbroom appeared unmoved, sitting at the back of the class so still and silent that she was almost invisible to her fellow classmates.

"In order to select the witch, I am going to test your magical abilities through a light conjuring spell. So far, your schooling will have involved the reciting of incantations and production of potions, and some of you may have even experimented with the production of artificial light. A light conjuring spell, however, is one which comes from within the witch herself and requires not only the learning of the correct incantation but also a measure of both physical and mental exertion. Such spells are generally considered too advanced for classroom magic. Have any of you come across this spell before"

Immediately, Dorothy Pendle-Jones thrust her hand into the air.

"And you are?" Hecate inquired, keeping her knowledge of the young witch to herself for now

"Dorothy Pendle-Jones, Mistress Broomhead"

"You claim to have come across the spell before?"

"Yes, Mistress Broomhead. I won the national schools spelling contest last year and light conjuring was the final round"

"I see, and you were successful in this task I take it"

"Well, almost successful Mistress Broomhead. My attempt was considered far better than my opponent's which was why I was awarded the title."

"But you did not actually produce any light?"

"No Mistress Broomhead"

"All of you should take heed of this. In your schooling, you will no doubt have heard many such phrases _almost successful, a fair attempt, good try_ ; in my classroom we call these things what they are – failures. My students strive for perfection and anything else is simply unacceptable. Is that clear?"

Dorothy Pendle-Jones was now looking at Mistress Broomhead with something that bordered closely on resentment. Hecate deliberately caught the girl's eye and she quickly adjusted her expression to a well-practiced look of keen and earnest interest.

"Now, since none of you have ever produced a light conjuring charm before I shall show the incantation required. Pay attention, as I will show this only once and know that remembering the incantation will not be enough. Only those with the mental strength and application are likely to succeed. Light requires a modicum of the witch herself"

Mistress Broomhead, lazily placed her outstretched palm before her and said clearly " _Fortus illuminatum!"_ Immediately, a large sphere of white light appeared, suspended in the air above her hand. She closed her palm and the light at once was extinguished.

"Now" she addressed the class "you may try"

There was a moment of hesitation as the class looked at each other nervously, then the thirty witches began to stretch out their palms and in slightly quavering voices, spoke the incantation. As Hecate expected, the majority were unsuccessful. Some succeeded in producing a flash or a spark that died out as quickly as it had appeared. Only four witches succeeded in producing a sustained light. Three were the previously singled out pupils and the final was a girl sat on the opposite end of the row to Constance Hardbroom. She had short cropped hair, an unsupressable wry smile and was slouched in her seat in a way which suggested she was not taking the class as seriously as her fellow first years. Hecate frowned, she looked like a cheeky girl and Hecate could not abide cheeky girls.

"Very well, the four girls who have produced the light may remain. The rest of you can get out"

There was a scraping of stools and scrabbling as 26 girls gathered their belongings and hurried from the classroom. A small number looked disappointed but most were relived to leave the stilted atmosphere of Broomhead's classroom behind them.

"Now that we have separated the wheat from the chaff" Hecate addressed her remaining four students when the final girl had left the classroom "we will see what you can really do…"


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Constance Hardbroom sat rigidly in her seat, watching Mistress Broomhead with a strange combination of admiration and trepidation. Constance Hardbroom had suffered more than her fair share of disappointment and loneliness in her young life but she had never before come across someone who displayed such a relentless and almost cruel sense of purpose as the woman now stood before her. Constance knew what was said about Mistress Broomhead; the most talented witch of the age but also one of the most formidable. She had been at the college for less than 24 hours and already she was longing for the quiet and comforting solitude of her old school library.

"The second task" Mistress Broomhead continued "is simple. You must merely maintain the light for as long as possible. The girl who can continue for the longest amount of time shall come under my tuition"

She gave a quick flick of her index and little finger and a large silver hourglass appeared on the desk behind her.

"You may begin" she said as she turned around to begin the hour glass.

Constance and the other two girls immediately conjured the white light once again but the girl along the row from Constance produced just a spark. She opened her mouth to repeat the incantation but Mistress Broomhead without turning around flicked her hand towards the door.

"Out" she ordered.

The girl gave a nonchalant wink at Constance as she slung her book bag over her shoulder and headed for the door. Constance risked a look at the two remaining girls. The girl at the front had produced a perfect pure white sphere of light about the size of a tangerine which floated steadily above her hand. The red haired girl's sphere had a slightly golden, yellow quality to it – like dappled sunlight, and it was swelling bigger and smaller rather like a sunflower opening and closing its petals. Her own light she knew well - it appeared spherical at first glance but when you examined it more closely it was more like a star with a bright white centre that extended outwards in four peaks surround by a haze of slightly paler white light.

Mistress Broomhead loomed at the front of the classroom surveying the girls over her tightly folded arms as the black grains of sand slid softly through the hour glass indicating the passing seconds. After about two minutes, the red haired girl's light suddenly swelled to twice the normal size before just as suddenly shrinking smaller and smaller until the tiny remaining seed of light shrank itself to nothing. Mistress Broomhead waved the girl from the room without comment, her stare never wavering from the remaining two witches before her.

After six minutes had passed in silence, Constance was beginning to tire slightly. Her hand ached from being held outstretched for so long and the concentration of producing the light was causing a slight headache to begin behind her eyes. She wondered how long she could persevere when she was distracted by Dorothy's light, which was beginning to waver slightly, she saw the back of her classmates shoulder stiffen as she pushed to maintain the light but within another thirty seconds the light had fallen onto the girl's palm and gone out.

"It seems, Dorothy, that this is another occasion when you have almost succeeded. Please collect your things quickly, I wish to speak with my new student alone."

Constance let her own light extinguish as Dorothy, her face flushed with anger, gathered up her things. She flexed her tired hand as she watched the other girl leave the classroom rapidly, her blonde ponytail swinging indignantly behind her.

Mistress Broomhead closed the door with a rapid wave of her hand and Constance found herself alone with Hecate Broomhead for the first time.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Come here, Constance"

Resisting the urge to ask Mistress Broomhead how she knew her name, Constance stood from the relative safety of the back corner and made her way quietly towards her tutor's desk. Constance soon learnt that Mistress Broomhead never asked for information needlessly, in fact the older witch always seemed to know everything she needed without ever having to ask.

Constance had always been tall for her age, but she felt strangely small under Mistress Broomhead's steely stare.

"Why did you not say that you had previously produced a light conjuring spell when I asked?"

Constance felt a slight jolt of panic, she opened her mouth whether to admit or deny the accusation she wasn't certain because before she could respond, Mistress Broomhead began speaking once more.

"The first thing you must know Constance is that I do not tolerate lying. Girls who lie to me once do not generally get the opportunity to do so again. So I will ask you one more time. You have produced a light conjuring before, am I correct?"

"Yes, Mistress Broomhead"

"Would you care to elaborate?"

"I found the spell in a book about embodied magic in my school library last summer. I tried it and it worked"

"I see, so you have not merely tried the spell. You have been using it with success for over twelve months. Were your teachers aware of this?"

"No, Mistress Broomhead"

"And when I asked, you felt no need to divulge the information. Even though you had an unfair advantage over your classmates"

Constance remained silent

"It would be wise, Constance, to be candid about such information in future. I do not like to be deceived. Is that clear?"

Constance bit her lip but still did not reply

"I asked you if that was clear, Constance" her tutor barked

"Yes Mistress Broomhead" Constance replied softly.

"Your tutorials will take place directly after dinner three times a week. You will come to this classroom unless otherwise instructed. I expect you to be neat, tidy and punctual. Lateness is completely inexcusable as is failure to attend. Hold out your hand"

Constance gingerly stretched out her right hand and Mistress Broomhead produced a thin, silver band like a bracelet which she clasped about Constance's wrist. As soon as the two ends of the band met the join disappeared entirely to be replaced by a small pentangle etched into the silver.

"All of my students wear one of these; it will let you know if I wish to see you outside of our scheduled tutorials. Needless to say, I expect you to come immediately when I summon you"

"But how…" Constance began

"You will soon find that out" Mistress Broomhead retorted with a grim smile.

A large clock in the corner of the classroom suddenly let out a deep chime to announce that it was 11 o'clock.

"You may go to your next class. I will see you tomorrow evening for our first tutorial"

Mistress Broomhead opened her classroom door with a wave of her hand and Constance gratefully allowed herself to be swept along into the group of students making their way to class in the corridor outside.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

And so Constance began her first year of tutorials with Mistress Broomhead. She quickly learnt that they were more demanding than she could have ever imagined. She had no-one to warn her; she knew Mistress Broomhead had a small number of other students but they never made themselves known to her and Mistress Broomhead certainly did not encourage this. Constance would remain Mistress Broomhead's youngest student for three years, as aside from the day when she had tested Constance and her two classmates, the tutor did not show any further interest in the subsequent intakes of new undergraduates. Once, Constance caught sight of a fourth year wearing a slim silver bracelet a few places ahead of her in the queue at lunchtime and on a few occasions she would arrive at the classroom to find an older girl leaving – usually in tears, but that was the only contact she was ever to have with them.

Just like her fellow classmates, her tutorials appeared as a one hour evening slot on her timetable but the sessions were never shorter than two hours and frequently extended much longer as Mistress Broomhead refused to accept anything short of a perfect performance. After her tutorials, 17 year old Constance had little energy to do anything more than fall into bed. For the first three weeks, she did nothing but summon the light charm in various situations. Mistress Broomhead was determined that all young witches were far too flighty and that Constance must learn to control and focus her magic despite any number of distractions.

At her first tutorial, Constance was instructed to conjure the light before Mistress Broomhead unexpectedly asked her

"What is 12x13?"

As Constance replied "156", Mistress Broomhead angrily slammed her hand against her desk

"Did I say you were to let the light go out girl?"

Constance looked in astonishment at her outstretched palm and realised she had indeed let the light go out.

"Conjure it again!" Mistress Broomhead demanded and Constance quickly complied "Perhaps basic multiplication is a little beyond you. How about "12 plus 13" surely you can manage that?"

Constance flushed with embarrassment as she gave the answer in a voice a little above a whisper. Mistress Broomhead once again conjured her silver hourglass and began to fire a series of sums at Constance, each one getting increasingly more difficult. Five times the hourglass made it to around two thirds of the ten minute total before Constance faltered on a question and allowed the light to go out. Each time Mistress Broomhead ordered her to reconjure the light before delivering a smart tap to the top of the hourglass which began the ten minutes all over again. Finally she achieved the required time and was dismissed after she was given a long list of potions and antidotes to learn by the next tutorial.

Over the next three weeks, Constance grew to loathe the light conjuring charm. She was of course required to maintain the light while recalling the list of potions until she could recite the entire list perfectly. She was made to do so while listening to a high pitched whistling noise conjured by Mistress Broomhead which made her ears throb. She conjured the light while running around the perimeter of the school field, pursued by Mistress Broomhead on her broomstick. She was once even made to stand outside in the rain with her light for a full hour. On her return, she was admonished by Mistress Broomhead for dripping on her classroom floor and ordered to fetch a mop.

During these three weeks, Constance also remained puzzled by the silver bracelet. The thin band did not give her any kind of sign that she could see and as Mistress Broomhead made no mention of it she assumed she had not missed her tutor summoning her. The bracelet was too narrow to be slipped over Constance's hand meaning she could never remove it. On more than one occasion she examined the small pentangle marking the now invisible silver join, tapping and pulling it slightly. She didn't have the courage to do any more and usually gave up after a few minutes. She had a sneaking suspicion that Mistress Broomhead was aware of even these small attempts.

On the first night of her fourth week at the college, she was jolted awake by a sudden pain in her right wrist. Blearily, she looked at the silver bracelet and realised it was growing increasingly hotter, burning slightly against her skin. It dawned on her sleep addled brain that this must be the summoning Mistress Broomhead had warned her of and she leapt from bed in confusion, seizing her black dress from the chair beside her bed and hastily pulling on her boots. She ran down the stairs as silently as she could, pulling her hair into a bun on top of her head as she ran. In the corridor outside Mistress Broomhead's classroom she was greeted by two gleaming eyes as Mistress Broomhead's cat stood waiting for her outside the door. On seeing her approach, the cat turned and stalked silently into the classroom and Constance hurriedly followed.

Mistress Broomhead was seated behind her desk, the silver hourglass before her. She made no movement until Constance had positioned herself in front of her desk.

"Five and a half minutes, Constance. Do you not recall me telling you that when summoned you should come immediately?"

"Yes, Mistress Broomhead, I'm sorry" Constance replied, her voice still hoarse from her disturbed sleep.

"At least you have made one decision for me" Mistress Broomhead mused cryptically "Tonight, is to be your final light conjuring test. Something you will no doubt be delighted to hear. Oh, do not think I have not seen your weariness with the spell each evening in these tutorials. Your opinion of the spell is of no consequence, you are my student and you will do as tell you. But mark my words girl, once we move on to more serious magic you will be earnestly wishing to return to these lessons. You are to conjure a light and maintain it until I come back. Hemlock will see that you do as I ask until I return"

Mistress Broomhead gestured to her cat which had curled up on the front bench, its yellow eyes gleaming at Constance menacingly in the dimly lit classroom. Constance conjured the light and Mistress Broomhead vanished without another word, leaving Constance alone with the nothing but the ever watchful Hemlock and the relentless ticking of the classroom clock for company. Constance, now well trained to maintain her light despite a whole array of distractions, risked a glance at the clock and saw that it was five past midnight.

The night crept by achingly slowly; several times Constance felt her eyelids begin to droop and had to dig her fingernails into the palm of her left hand to keep herself awake. At one point she thought she would walk around the room a little to keep herself alert but she had barely taken a step when Hemlock rose up, his back arched and hissed at her menacingly. Fearful that the cat would fetch his mistress, Constance stepped back to her original position and, after eyeing her suspiciously for several more minutes, the cat curled back up and resumed his watch.

It was half past five when Mistress Broomhead suddenly materialised in front of Constance, causing her to jump in fright, and told her she may stop. Mistress Broomhead promptly picked up Hemlock and disappeared again leaving Constance alone. Through the classroom window she could see the golden pink glow of dawn staining the morning sky and hear the faint strains of bird song which symbolled the dawn chorus. The early morning sunlight drew her eye to the silver hourglass which glimmered slightly in the half light and Constance suddenly understood Mistress Broomhead's earlier cryptic words. Five and a half minutes was how long she had kept Mistress Broomhead waiting and so she Constance had remained there for 5 and a half hours. One minute for every second of her tutor's time wasted. Weary almost to the point of tears, Constance barely remembered the trip back to her room.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Constance was awakened once again by the gentle mewling of her cat Morgana who had settled upon her young mistress's chest. Constance opened her eyes and once Morgana was certain her mistress was not going to fall asleep again, she leapt nimbly to the floor. Constance looked up at her bedroom clock and sat up in dismay. It was half past seven, she had overslept by an hour and the hallways outside her room were busy with the chatter and movement of her fellow students. She forced herself out of bed, attempting to gather the books needed for her 8 o'clock potions lab and dress at the same time. She paused on her way out to gently stroke her cat beneath the chin

"Thank you Morgana" she whispered before fleeing the room.

Her late night lesson had left her with aching limbs and a slow brain and so, despite Morgana's timely intervention, she arrived at the foot of the stairs just as the entrance hall clock halted at five minutes to eight. Abandoning all hopes of breakfast, she turned on her heel and made her way to Miss Fairwind's first floor potions laboratory.

Despite skipping breakfast she was the last to arrive, just as Miss Fairwind was about to shut the classroom door. This was the signal to latecomers that they had missed the chance to enter the class. Constance began to stutter an apology but Miss Fairwind bustled her in to the classroom saying "not to worry Constance, just in time! Take a seat now, quickly" Miss Fairwind could not have been more than 25. She was a small, almost elfin woman with piercing blue eyes and an unruly bob of jet black curls. Assigned to teach the first and second year potions classes that Mistress Broomhead had no time for, she was a talented potion maker and born teacher. Her classes universally adored her.

Constance slipped into the only remaining seat, at a cauldron with Catherine Widdershins. Catherine was a friendly and amicable witch who at four weeks into the term had already gained a reputation as the most accident prone witch in the college. Every spell and potion Catherine touched seemed to turn to disaster and for that reason, despite her good nature, she was the least desirable cauldron partner in the first year undergraduate class. Miss Fairwind directed them to page 17 in their potions book – a preservation potion and invited them to collect their ingredients from the front bench.

Five minutes into the lesson, Constance had already had to use an extinguishing spell on Catherine's sleeve which had caught fire when she let it trail beneath the cauldron as she reached for some dock leaves. Constance had already had cause to use the spell the previous week. Her Friday evening tutorial had once again involved conjuring a light, this while time reciting a list of spells and their incantations. Constance had arrived for the tutorial two minutes late according to Mistress Broomhead and so in order to "improve Constance's sense of urgency", Constance had been ordered to perform both tasks whilst stood on the tiled hearth – uncomfortably close to the fire blazing in the grate. Once the recitation had finished, which Mistress Broomhead made her repeat twice because she had mispronounced the incantation required for a summoning spell the first time, Mistress Broomhead had flicked her wrist causing a small tongue of flame to leap from the fire and set the hem of Constance's long skirt on fire. She had quickly called out the extinguishing spell to douse the flames. Mistress Broomhead had claimed she was testing Constance's ability to recall the incantations under duress. Constance supposed on this occasion she should be grateful for Mistress Broomhead's memorable lessons. Even her sleep deprived brain was able to recall the incantation quickly enough to save Catherine before any damage was done.

By half way through the lesson, Constance's head had filled with a gentle buzzing noise and her thoughts were moving at the pace of a very reluctant snail. Through gentle direction and correction from Constance, she and Catherine had added all their ingredients to their cauldron and were now allowing it to simmer for the allotted twenty minutes; the potion requiring nothing more than to be stirred eight times anticlockwise at the end of the brewing time. Constance let her chin rest on her hands and soothed by the simmering of the potion and the murmuring chatter of her class she soon let her eye lids close.

She was awoken by a loud bang and the smell of acrid smoke assaulting her nostrils. Dark grey smoke was streaming from their cauldron where Catherine stood, ladle in hand, looking decidedly guilty. Miss Fairwind appeared in front of their bench coughing slightly as she magically waved away the worst of the billowing smoke.

"Ladies!" she exclaimed "Please tell me after carefully weighing all those ingredients and allowing it to brew for twenty minutes you didn't stir it clockwise!"

Catherine glanced sideways at an exasperated Constance before turning back to Miss Fairwind.

"I'm sorry, Miss. It was my fault. I stirred it clockwise. You'd think being called Widdershins I would know which way was anti-clockwise by know wouldn't you!"

Miss Fairwind made a noise half way between a sigh and a laugh.

"But Constance" she said, turning towards her "why didn't you stop her!"

"I…I wasn't paying attention" Constance admitted.

Miss Fairwind rolled her eyes in exasperation, but Constance was relieved to see that she was also smiling.

"No harm done I suppose" she said, disappearing the girls' congealed potion with a light wave of her hand. "Right, everyone else please put your completed potions into your labelled flasks and place them on my desk for assessment. You two, hang on a minute at the end and I'll log this in your Tutor Records"

Constance felt an instant sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She reached into her bag and pulled out the small, slim black book with the college logo on the cover. Tutor Records were an important part of the college's system, having been introduced around a decade earlier when the Witch and Wizards Higher Education Board (WWHEB) had decreed colleges were not keeping good enough records of their students' progress. The book contained two sections; one titled "Achievements" where particularly notable or extraordinary achievements in the classroom were recorded and the other titled "Areas for improvement" where areas in which witches were struggling or underperforming along with any misdemeanours were recorded. Unlike Mistress Broomhead, most tutors did not run their tutorials according to a rigid programme of study. Instead they let their students' guide each session allowing them to identify areas from the week's learning that they would like to revisit or discuss. The tutor records were an important part of this providing a clear idea of where students needed most assistance as well as where penalties for rule breaking should be imposed.

So far Constance had racked up a considerable list of achievements, seemingly to the disinterest of Mistress Broomhead. Achievements, just like areas for improvement, were meant to be signed off by a student's personal tutor. Several of the staff had gently admonished Constance when adding new entries for not getting the previous achievements signed off. Constance had attempted just once to mention this to Mistress Broomhead, but her tutor had merely fixed her with a steely stare and said

"When there is something in there that I need to read Constance Hardbroom, I will know. Until then kindly do not try to tell me how to tutor my students"

Constance now merely muttered something about Mistress Broomhead signing them all off at the end of each term to any questioning staff who frequently rolled their eyes but knew better than to question the formidable witch's ways.

Until now though, the areas for improvement section had remained blank. As she approached Miss Fairwind's desk, she was felt certain that Mistress Broomhead was sure to know this evening that the Tutor Record contained something worth reading. Miss Fairwind completed Catherine's book first, writing "Needs to practice Preservation Potion" in her neat, cursive script.

"There are a lot of potions for practice in here now Catherine" Miss Fairwind gently chided

"Oh I know, Miss. I am completely hopeless aren't I?" Catherine replied cheerfully "but Mistress Merriweather says one day it will all just fall into place"

"Yes, well that may be Catherine. But I think a little concentration in the potions lab might just hurry things along!"

"I'll try, I promise. Thanks Miss" Catherine replied taking the small book from her teacher's hand before wandering away to her next class.

Miss Fairwind reached for Constance' book, leaning over to write out the same neat phrase.

"What happened Constance?" she asked, giving her fountain pen a slight shake before putting it to the paper "you are usually such a precise potion maker"

"I didn't really get much sleep" Constance replied softly

"Oh dear! Not studying too late I hope?"

"Something like that" she answered

"You really show great promise as a potion maker Constance. I must say, I am quite jealous of whoever your tutor is" Miss Fairwind gestured to the open Tutor Record before her.

"It's Mistress Broomhead" Constance replied even more softly

Miss Fairwind looked up at her sharply before returning her gaze in shock to the rapidly drying ink on the page before her.

"Oh you silly girl" she exclaimed "Why didn't you tell me before I…" she gestured to the recently written sentence and sighed as the black ink momentarily flashed a brilliant purple before returning to its original colour. "Well, it looks like it is too late now. I wonder what spell she has gone for this year… of course!"

She picked up the small book in both hands and passed it to Constance. Constance gasped in shock. The book looked exactly the same slim volume as it always had but it now weighed roughly the equivalent of two potions text books.

"In order to strive for perfection Constance, you must feel the weight of your mistakes" Miss Fairwind recited in such a good impersonation of Mistress Broomhead that Constance looked up at her startled.

"Listen, Constance" Miss Fairwind continued in her own voice, lowering her tone as her blue eyes met Constance's dark ones "this is very important. If you ever need help, you can trust me. I… I'll try and do what I can"

Before Constance had time to reply, Miss Fairwind folded her arms and vanished. But as she did so, the left sleeve of her dress slipped back to reveal her wrist and Constance saw all too clearly that it was encased in a thin, silver band.

 **[Author's note: Chapter 6 is on the way very soon. In the meantime, I would really value your feedback on the story so far! 30/04/17]**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

By the end of the day, Constance was thoroughly fed up. Her lack of sleep made every class an effort and she was not aided by Mistress Broomhead's spell on her Tutor Record. It was possible with her other books and belongings to shift them about in her bag a bit, so that when the strap was repositioned on her shoulder she was given some temporary relief from the weight. This was not the case with her Tutor Record; the magical weight simply added itself on with a constant pressure no matter how her bag was carried. It was a relief to slip it from her shoulder when he sat down to her evening meal in the refectory with her two classmates Celeste LeFey and Roberta Charm. Roberta was the girl who had winked at Constance as she left Mistress Broomhead's classroom on the first day of term.

Despite the demanding schedule of classes and tutorials, Constance had managed to make some friends at the college. Her status as Mistress Broomhead's student was enough to make her a bit of an outsider but this coupled with being the only first year she had ever tutored as well as being younger than all of her classmates had gained her an unhappy notoriety. Celeste and Roberta also had reputations; Celeste due to her unusual magic style and obvious dislike of classroom learning and Roberta for her wry disdain of the college in general and rules in particular. Thrown together as the three outsiders in the first year class, the three students had tolerated each other's quirks and company and over time this had developed into a solid and unquestioning friendship.

"She can't leave it that heavy for ever, surely" Celeste exclaimed

"The vindictive old bat!" Roberta added

"Shhhh" Constance pleaded quietly; all too aware that Mistress Broomhead's gaze was on her from her seat at the top table.

"Is she watching us?" Celeste asked, deliberately not turning her head towards the staff table

Constance gave her friend the most barely visible of nods before casting her gaze down to her plate.

"Old bat" Roberta muttered under her breath before resuming her meal.

The weight of her book bag combined with the lead weight which seemed to have settled in the pit of her stomach made Constance feel as though she could sink straight through the floor as she reluctantly made her way to Miss Broomhead's classroom that evening. The door swung open to admit her as she approached and Constance entered the seemingly empty room.

"I believe you have something to show me Constance"

Mistress Broomhead's voice echoed through the empty classroom before she materialised inches in front of Constance causing her pupil to start backwards with alarm. Mistress Broomhead held out her hand expectantly, a grim look on her already stern face. Constance, realising there was little point in delaying the inevitable, reached into her book bag and pulled out her tutor record. She placed the small book into Mistress Broomhead's outstretched hand.

" _Needs to practice preservation potion"_ Mistress Broomhead read disdainfully. "This is elementary potion making Constance; a mistake in such a spell is beneath your intelligence. Explain yourself immediately"

"My cauldron partner…"

Mistress Broomhead held up her hand and the words forming on Constance's tongue felt as though they were wrenched from her mouth with a jerk causing her to choke slightly

"Before you continue in that vein Constance, I want to you to think carefully about the spell I placed on this book. What, do you imagine; was this intended to teach you?"

"That a good witch strives for perfection and must carry the weight of her own mistakes" Constance echoed the words spoken to her by Miss Fairwind just that morning

"Begin your explanation again. I think you know what I do not want to hear"

Constance measured her words carefully for a moment before settling on

"The cauldron needed to be stirred anti-clockwise. Ours was stirred clockwise"

"A child's mistake!" Mistress Broomhead snarled, slamming the now weighty book onto the nearest bench with a resounding thud "Even the most mediocre of witches should be able to follow simple brewing and stirring instructions. That a witch of your intelligence should make such a mistake is unthinkable. You disgrace yourself and you disgrace me! Well, don't just stare and me Constance. You need to practice, so practice"

Mistress Broomhead waved her arm and a cauldron appeared on the front bench. Simultaneously, a door behind Mistress Broomhead's desk swung open with a resounding crash revealing a small but well stocked potions store.

"What are you waiting for?" Mistress Broomhead's voice had fallen to a low and dangerous tone.

Constance's breath was taken away as a sudden sweep of magical force stuck her in the back causing her to stagger forwards towards the cauldron. Not even daring to take a moment to catch her breath, Constance drew her potions book from her bag and made her way towards the potions store. She made the potion with unmeasurable care – checking and rechecking each ingredient and measurement. After the twenty minutes brewing time, which she timed to the second, Constance stirred the potion eight times anticlockwise before decanting a small amount into a glass beaker. Mistress Broomhead looked up from where she was sat working at her desk.

"Test it" she said curtly as a small toadstool appeared in a pot on the bench beside Constance.

Carefully Constance let a few drops of the potion fall onto the toadstool. Immediately crystals appeared all over the surface of the toadstool as if it was covered in frost. The crystals began to merge and smooth until the toadstool once again returned to its original appearance. Constance reached out and touched it gently with one finger. The toadstools surface was now cool and entirely smooth –as if it was encased in a thin layer of glass.

"Do it again" Mistress Broomhead said in a bored tone, vanishing the remaining potion and ingredients with a wave of her hand.

Constance panicked as she realised that her potions book had also been vanished. She had not anticipated that she would be asked to produce the potion from memory. She recited the instructions to herself over and over as she collected the ingredients from the store, grateful to Catherine's clumsiness that she was reminded to add dock leaves to her pile at the last moment. As she was pouring the completed potion into a second flask, she noticed that a second toadstool had appeared in the pot next to the first and she dropped a little of the new potion onto it without comment. She was relieved to see that it was immediately encased in the same clear covering as the first.

"You know what they say Constance" Mistress Broomhead did not even look up from her work this time "practice makes perfect. I think one more time should make sure the lesson really sinks in"

Constance's potion and ingredients vanished once more and a third toadstool sprouted forth in the pot. The October sky outside the classroom was now inky black. The care that Constance had taken with the first potion had cost her a great deal of time and the classroom clock suddenly gave a deep chime to ring out 10 o'clock

"Again?" Constance gasped, unable to bit back the words.

Mistress Broomhead appeared in front of Constance with such speed that she did not even have time to register she had vanished.

"Once again Constance, you seem to forget who the tutor and who the student is here. You seemed so keen to have your tutor record signed by me but perhaps you have changed you mind. We could stop this lesson right now and you can simply carry the weight of this mistake around with you for the rest of term"

Mistress Broomhead dropped the heavy book onto Constance's hand causing her to wince. A small part of Constance wanted desperately to stand up and walk out and damn the consequences but the thought of carrying that incessantly heavy book around with her indefinitely was too much to bear. She stood once more and made her way to the potions store.

"And remove that insolent look from you face" Mistress Broomhead's voice boomed from the classroom behind her.

Constance collected her ingredients and rearranged her features into something she hoped resembled dignified calm before making her way back to the cauldron for the third time.

"Very well" Mistress Broomhead said, an hour later when Constance had successfully applied the preservation potion to the final toadstool "we shall conclude the lesson there"

Constance hastily began to gather her belongings as the ingredients once more were magically returned to the store.

"Oh and I want you to take the toadstools with you and keep them in your room. They can serve as a regular reminder to you of the importance of getting things right the first time"

At that Mistress Broomhead doused the lights with a flick of her fingers and promptly vanished, leaving Constance to gather up the toadstools and exit the classroom in the dark.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

 _June 1982_

Constance sat alone on a wooden chair in a third floor corridor waiting to be called in for her practical chanting examination. Constance's Great Aunt had been a highly proficient chanter in her youth as well as a great lover of music. Constance too was a natural at chanting, something which as a child she had been delighted to learn she had inherited from her mother. However, Mistress Broomhead did not approve of chanting which she viewed as weak and emotional magic. She had instructed Constance's to drop chanting and a number of other "weak magics" next year so she could focus on the core subjects like potions and spells. Constance had a lot on her mind and she let out a gentle sigh as she toyed absentmindedly with the ever-present silver band on her wrist. The movement revealed a thin line of pink, new skin also lying in a band around her wrist; the contrast stark against her almost translucently pale skin.

The mark had happened some two weeks previously. Constance had been one person away from the front of the queue in the refectory when she had felt the bracelet grow warm against her wrist. She spun around, ready to respond immediately to Mistress Broomhead's summoning when she caught sight of the queue behind her. The entire college was in a state of pre-exam fever and everyone was keen to get an early lunch so that they could squeeze in another half hour of revision before afternoon classes. The queue snaked right around the outer edge of the refectory and out into the entrance hall and Constance realised that even if Mistress Broomhead released her in time she would never be served before afternoon classes if she left it now. Constance had missed breakfast this morning; Mistress Broomhead had required some woodland flowers picked in the morning dew for her fourth year potion class and had sent Constance on the five mile broom ride to pick them. So Constance impulsively decided to risk Mistress Broomhead's wrath in order to get a sandwich and some fruit which she could at least save in her bag for later.

The girl in front seemed to be taking an inexplicably long amount of time to choose her food as the band on Constance wrist grew ever hotter. Constance finally reached the front and chose her food without any recognition of the items she picked. She hurried to pick up her tray ready to find a quiet table where she could quickly stow her food in her bag. However, the movement of picking up the tray caused the now searing hot silver band to press more firmly into Constance's skin and she gasped in shock, jerking her burning wrist upward and causing her tray and contents to clatter loudly to the floor. Constance stood stunned for a moment amid the chaotic mess of bits of sandwich and broken china. Her apple had rolled beneath a nearby table and the tray itself had skittered away across the tiled floor. Constance attempted a spell to clear the mess, but the burning pain in her wrist was now so severe that she couldn't concentrate and so she instead fled barely hearing the intrigued whispers of her fellow students as she passed.

It had been a pointless risk and Mistress Broomhead's wrath at being kept waiting nearly ten minutes was unquenchable. In fact, it was only the arrival of the fourth year potion class that allowed Constance's to slink away with her tutor's cruel scolding still ringing in her ears and the promise that they would discuss the matter further that evening filling her with dread. Constance's wrist was badly burned by the incident, her bracelet unpleasantly cushioned on a ring of tender blisters. Mistress Broomhead had openly forbade her from seeing the college nurse and by mid-afternoon Constance could not even bend her wrist enough to hold a pen. Her salvation came in the form of Miss Fairwind; the young teacher had not forgotten her promise to help Constance in the first few weeks of term. When Constance returned to her room after the final lesson of the afternoon, she found a worn blue book entitled "Potions for Healing and Remedy" on her bed. Inside the front cover was tucked a key and a slip of paper on which a neat, cursive script read

" _My classroom will be empty during dinner. Lock the door when you are done and slide the key underneath"_

Constance had managed to brew a suitable healing potion, but the tender, raw skin which replaced the burn was only now starting to toughen enough to allow the incident to be forgotten.

The next day, Constance had received a summons from the Head of the First Year during her chanting class. She was not too pleased at reports that Constance had not only caused a great deal of mess in the refectory but also run away rather than clean things up. Constance pleaded that she had suddenly felt unwell. Perhaps luckily, Constance had accidentally jarred her still tender wrist against the doorframe of the Head of Year's study on the way in and her resulting watering eyes and pale complexion seemed to incline the Mistress to believe her because she let the matter lie.

"Oh and Constance" she called to her as Constance was leaving the study "I understand that it is not possible for you to return to family over the Summer break. I have a form here for you to fill in if you wish to remain here at the college. It is purely administrative, so the kitchens know how many to cater for and the cleaners know which rooms to clean and so forth. Of course, a young girl like you might want to use the Summer to do a little travelling – see something of the world while you can. But if you want to stay at the college for any portion of the Summer can you fill this out and drop it in to me when you are next passing."

Constance was awakened from her reminiscence as the door of the Chanting classroom opened and Dorothy Pendle-Jones exited, her blonde ponytail swinging perkily behind her as she left with the air of someone who knows they have performed well. Constance watched her unseeingly. How she would dearly love to see something of the world as her head of year put it. It was completely impossible for Constance had no money to speak of. It had been over half a decade since she'd had any contact with her father, and while the money for her not unsubstantial college fees continued to be paid from the English bank account her father had set up for her, it seemed never to have occurred to him to set up any kind of allowance for this daughter. Constance had inherited the vast majority of her great aunt's small estate but this was placed in a trust until she was twenty one. She heard the Chanting Mistress call her into her exam. Constance rose to enter the classroom; more acutely aware than ever how effectively trapped she was within the college's four walls.

 **[Author's note: Thank you to my reviewers – I am glad you are enjoying it. I have the rough arc of this story planned out but any feedback or any parts of HB's character you think should be explored in this then let me know!]**


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"Cheer up Con, just one exam left!" Roberta nudged her friend's foot encouragingly with her shoe beneath the table. "Potion's practical - everyone knows you're going to top the class. Even Dorothy Pendle-Jones though she would never admit it out loud!"

Constance, Roberta and Celeste were sat at their usual table in the refectory; at the back so that Constance was as far away from Mistress Broomhead as possible and at the very end near to the refectory side door so that Celeste could feel the breeze from the courtyard outside. Constance's two friends were positively gleeful at the prospect of their final first year exam that afternoon but Constance just could not bring herself to share in their enthusiasm.

"What is the matter?" Celeste asked looking at her friend with concern

Constance reached into her bag and produced the form which their Head of Year had given her two weeks earlier and laid it on the table in front of her two friends.

"I am just not that excited at the prospect of staying here for another six weeks by myself" Constance admitted

"Oh that" Celeste said in a flippant tone which instantly frustrated Constance

"That's all sorted" Roberta added

"What's all sorted?" Constance demanded, hurt that neither of her friends seemed even slightly interested in the long and tedious summer awaiting her.

"Well, the first half of the summer you'll spend with Celeste and her parents. You know chanting to the sunset and being one with nature and all that…" Roberta exhaled loudly as Celeste gave her a friendly dig in the ribs with her elbow "and the other half you'll spend with my family in our falling down chateau in France; cheap wine and loads of children and chickens – half of which I don't even think are ours"

"The children or the chickens?" Celeste asked

"Both!" Roberta retorted "I've got too many siblings and young cousins to keep track of. Especially when we are in France and they spend the entire day roaming around in the fields and come back covered in so much mud that they are indistinguishable from each other!"

Constance stared at her friends in a stunned and touched silence.

"But..." she began "when? How? Why didn't you tell me?"

"We've been planning it for weeks now" Celeste replied calmly

"But we couldn't tell you too soon; in case old Broomhead got wind of it" Roberta added "She would be sure to stick her oar in. You know how much she likes to control you and everything you do"

"She doesn't control me, I mean I…" Constance let the words die knowing in truth her friend was right "Thank you, thank you both so much"

"Don't mention it" said Roberta standing and slinging her book bag over her shoulder "Now are you ready to ace this potions exam because I am really relying on you to put Dorothy in her place"

Four hours later, and Roberta and Constance were once again sat at their table at the refectory their potions final exam already a distant memory. Constance couldn't remember a time when she had felt so happy. For the entire potions exam, she had barely been able to supress her joy at the news her friends had just shared. So much so, that when she had applied her regrowth potion to the withered vine she was testing it on; it had not merely produced a few new shoots as required but had burst upwards sprouting huge, glossy green leaves and deep red grapes. Something which greatly surprised Miss Fairwind, who was convinced she had taken cuttings from a dying ivy plant but who had joined in the class's applause and laughter at such an extraordinary feat of potion making.

Constance and Roberta were alone that evening as Celeste had gone to an end of term meeting of the herb gathering society and was likely not to be seen again until dawn.

"No more exams, two weeks until we get our results and then six weeks freedom" Roberta was saying cheerfully "Just think Con, six weeks without having to see that old ba-"

Roberta gasped as Mistress Broomhead suddenly appeared at the end of the table causing Roberta to spill the glass of water she was holding into her lap

"Unless you wish to spend the evening flying around the belfry I suggest you keep the rest of that sentence to yourself Roberta Charm" Mistress Broomhead glared at her before turning to her student "Constance, come with me"

Mistress Broomhead turned and walked away without waiting for a response. Constance returned her friend's quizzically raised eyebrow with a small shrug before hurrying after Mistress Broomhead. She was conscious that nearly every eye was on her as she left the refectory; the pale, thin first year girl appearing completely unemotional as she followed in Mistress Broomhead's wake.

"I hear, Constance," Mistress Broomhead said once they had reached her classroom "that you put on quite a spectacle in this afternoon's potion exam"

Constance kept quiet, waiting to gauge her tutor's mood before giving a response

"Do you not think your efforts were more than a little ostentatious?" Mistress Broomhead continued "you have never produced such fantastical results in my tutorials. What brought on this feat of outlandish and frankly unnecessary potion making?"

"I was just happy the exams were over" Constance replied quietly

"An emotional potion maker is a weak potion maker" Mistress Broomhead snarled "I do not know how many times I must repeat this Constance. You will never become a great witch if you allow yourself to be constantly clouded by your petty and childish emotions. I can see that I will have to greatly expand the course of study I have planned for you over the summer"

"Over the summer, Mistress Broomhead?"

"Of course. You have no family to speak of. No income. Your studies shall continue as normal"

Despite having never asked Constance about her personal circumstances in the ten months they have been acquainted, Mistress Broomhead seemed once again to know everything she needed to. Constance could not afford to give this too much thought though, as she saw her golden summer plans rapidly slipping away from her.

"I intend to travel over the summer, Mistress Broomhead"

"Travel?" Mistress Broomhead looked at Constance sharply "with whom?"

Something in Constance's mind made her feel it would not be wise to reveal too much about her holiday plans or her intended companions.

"Alone, Mistress Broomhead"

"Is that so?" Mistress Broomhead asked starting at Constance intently before narrowing her eyes

Suddenly, a clear image of her lunchtime conversation with Roberta and Celeste appeared in Constance's mind completely unbidden. As if she simply the audience to a play, she watched and listened as their entire conversation replayed itself. Then just as suddenly as the image had appeared it was gone and she once again could see the imposing figure of Mistress Broomhead standing over her.

"I think I told you at the beginning of the year" Mistress Broomhead said in a quiet voice "that I do not like to be deceived"

She vanished without another word. Constance's leant shakily back against the nearest bench. Her had was throbbing dully and a wave of nauseated panic rose in her throat as it dawned on her that Mistress Broomhead had apparently just read her mind.

 **[Author's note: I don't seem to be able to reply to reviews at the moment but so in answer to ImaginationofaFan's question: "there is one more chapter before we revisit Constance in her third year. What I have been trying to go for in these earlier chapters is the gradual build-up of Mistress Broomhead's control over HB but it is my intention that this will get worse as the story progresses (but also that Constance will begin to fight back). In terms of any violence, this will be something that is more implied than explicit (just because I think that is better suited to the way I write) but I do intend this to come into the story as Hecate grows more determine to control her student. I hope that answers your question** **"]**


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Be back by dawn Morgana" Constance reminded her black cat as she leapt up on to the sill of the open bedroom window "we leave for Celeste's first thing in the morning"

Morgana gave a quick flick of her tail to indicate she had heard before leaping nimbly out of the window into the summer night. It was the last evening of term and Constance was hastily folding her black clothing into a small suitcase. She had intended to pack earlier but Mistress Broomhead had insisted on a final tutorial. The exam results had come out earlier that day and Constance to no-one's surprised had topped the class in every subject. Mistress Broomhead had held the final tutorial in her study, a room she had never been invited to before. It was a slightly dark room, enclosed on all sides by bookshelves stacked with dark leather volumes, and dominated by a large clock on the centre wall above the desk. Mistress Broomhead had somehow already managed to acquire all of Constance exam papers and insisted on looking at every dropped mark or weak sentence in minute detail. Constance sat on a straight backed wooden chair in front of the desk, something which had surprised her as it was rare that she was permitted to sit at all in Mistress Broomhead's presence. Even more surprisingly, Mistress Broomhead had offered her a cup of tea. In fact, she had offered it in such a stern manner that Constance had not felt able to refuse and had sipped it nervously gaining a sharp glare from her tutor each time she scraped the cup against the saucer.

Constance was placing her hairbrush on top of the neatly packed pile of clothes when she was suddenly stuck by a sharp pain in her stomach. She reached a hand out to her chair to steady herself as a strange burning sensation began to rise in her throat. A second wave of pain, more intense than the first swept across her stomach and she hunched over clutching her middle. Constance felt lightheaded and she swooned in pain, her legs giving way beneath her. There was a sickening thud as the side of Constance's head struck the corner of her desk and everything went suddenly black.

"Constance. Constance?"

A concerned voice was calling her name and Constance could see a dim blur of dark curls and blue eyes as Miss Fairwind leaned over her before the darkness overtook her once more.

The next time she came to, she was lying on her bed and there were more voices in the room.

"It certainly is sudden" Constance vaguely recognised the voice of the college nurse "but not that uncommon. Students are sometimes taken this way after exams; exhaustion and stress then they pick up some sort of virus or influenza while their defences are low"

"Flu in June?" came the incredulous voice of Roberta

"Influenza can strike at any time of year" the nurse replied, clearly a little irritated "Well, whatever it is she needs bed rest. It is a bad dose but she should be right as rain in a few weeks, don't worry"

"A few weeks?" came the voice of Celeste this time "but she is coming home with me tomorrow!"

"Oh no, I'm afraid not" the nurse replied "she can't travel in this state -especially with the blow to her head. She will have to stop here at the college for the time being. Are you sure you are happy to sit with her Miss Fairwind? She really shouldn't be left unattended"

"Of course I'll stay with her" came Miss Fairwind's reply

"Very well, make sure she is kept warm. I will be back to check on her in a couple of hours but if anything changes in the meantime you can send her cat to fetch me. A good job the cat had the sense to fetch you in the first place or heaven knows how long she might have laid there"

Constance heard the nurse's rapid footsteps as she left the room.

"What's happened to her?" came Celeste's worried voice "she was fine at dinner"

"It's obvious what has happened isn't it!" came Roberta's angry reply "Mistress Broomhead was never happy about Con staying with us was she…"

Of course, Constance thought letting their words zone out as she tried to focus through the black fog swirling in her mind. The tea…

"…mustn't throw those kind of accusations about without proof." Miss Fairwind was saying.

With a disappointment that settled like a sinking stone, Constance realised that her dreams of a golden summer with friends was going to remain just that – a dream. She felt tears pricking the back of her throat and unable to bear the thought any longer, Constance allowed herself to slip back into unconsciousness.

 _September 1983_

Constance was sat on the stone steps which led down from the refectory side door to the small adjacent courtyard. Her chin was resting on her knees which she was hugging to her chest. She had been sat there for a couple of hours, watching the black shapes of her fellow students returning from their summer holidays. A steady flow of witches had been soaring across the sky above her on their brooms to land in the quadrangle at the far side of the college.

"There you are Con! We've been looking all over for you!"

There was a clatter behind her as the side door swung open to reveal Celeste and Roberta both looking slightly windswept but well-rested. Celeste's nose was covered in a liberal sprinkling of freckles from the summer sun while Roberta sported an even, golden tan.

She rose to greet them, fighting back the tears which threatened to prick her eyes when she realised how much she had missed them.

"How are you feeling? Are you finally better?" Celeste was looking at her friend in concern, alarmed at the way her dark dress hung from her tall frame "you look so thin… are you sure you are quite well?"

"I'm fine" Constance soothed, reaching out to put her hand over that of her concerned friend.

"What's that?" Roberta asked sharply.

Constance looked down to see her left sleeve has been pushed back slightly, revealing four small bluish bruises in a line on her inside arm. Constance slid her sleeve back down to her wrist.

"Nothing" she said wearily "It's fine. _I'm_ fine"

She looked up suddenly and her two friends followed her gaze through the side door. Mistress Broomhead was stood at the opposite end of the refectory staring over at them. She raised her hand and beckoned Constance with one curled finger, before vanishing.

"I have to go" Constance said

"But it is only an hour into the term, what could she possibly have to say to you?" Roberta asked

"Are you quite sure you are alright?" Celeste asked once again

"Look I won't be long and you need to unpack anyway" Constance replied evasively. "I'll see you at dinner shortly, alright?"

Before either friend could answer, Constance vanished from where she was stood. Celeste and Roberta stared at the space where she had been just moments before.

"When did she learn to do that?!" Roberta exclaimed

"What has happened to her over the summer?" Celeste seemed near to tears "We should never have left her."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

 _April 1984_

"Ah Constance, come in dear and sit down"

Constance walked across the Dean's bright office and folded her tall frame into a padded leather chair in front of her desk. The desk was set next to a leaded window which over looked the college quadrangle and the chatter and laughter of Constance's fellow students making their way between classes floated up on the spring breeze. Each student in the third year had received a note in their pigeon hole that week inviting them to an individual meeting with the Dean to discuss their future. Constance watched warily as the Dean reached for a file which was balanced on the top of a haphazard pile. Constance caught her name, written in a now slightly faded copperplate script on the front before the dean opened the file and placed it on the desk in front of her.

"You really are to be congratulated Constance" the Dean began, adjusting her spectacles slightly as she perused the file in front of her "Your academic record is quite exemplary. I think it is fair to say that we have every faith you will be passing your exams with first class honours in the summer"

"Thank you" said Constance quietly

"And your command of magic really is most impressive for your age" the Dean continued "I understand from your teachers that you are now using entirely non-verbal spells; some of our girls who go on to the fourth year do not quite master that before they leave us. I hear that you are also proficient in apparition spells. Of course, I know for Mistress Broomhead appearing and disappearing at will is quite natural but some witches never become skilled in it so to do so at 19 years of age is most unusual"

Constance gave a minute flinch at the mention of her tutor's name, resisting the urge to look over her shoulder as had become her habit when Mistress Broomhead's name was spoken. She had, of course, been able to appear and disappear since her first Summer at the college but she made no attempt to correct the Dean. To do so would seem like bragging; something which Mistress Broomhead disapproved of strongly, and regardless Constance was reluctant to bring further attention to herself. Her scholarly and magical achievements had served only to increase her unhappy notoriety as she progressed through the college.

Constance remembered all too clearly that first summer when she had learnt apparition magic. Constance never had any doubt that Mistress Broomhead had slipped a poison in her tea to prevent her spending the summer with her friends. Three days into the summer holidays, Mistress Broomhead had brought a second cup of tea to Constance's room and ordered her to drink it. Within a couple of hours, the fever which had so puzzled the college nurse had lessened considerably and after another few days of rest Constance was out of bed and able to walk around the college for short periods. By the next week, her tutorials with Mistress Broomhead had resumed and Constance's sudden illness was never discussed again. Constance found it did have some residual effects, her throat remained very tender and she found it difficult to swallow for some time afterwards. She also tired quickly, which seemed to weaken her magic for days after she was declared fully recovered.

It was perhaps because of this temporary weakening of her magic that she struggled so much on her first introduction to apparition magic. Mistress Broomhead had spent their first tutorial lecturing her at length on the theory of the magic before demonstrating the spell and ordering Constance to try it herself. The resulting attempt from Constance had been disastrous – no matter how hard she tried to apply both theory and spell she remained resolutely present on the spot where she stood. She had been angrily dismissed by Mistress Broomhead with a warning to improve her performance by the next tutorial.

By their next meeting, Constance had made little progress and was unable to meet Mistress Broomhead's demand that she appear at the other side of the classroom. Her irate tutor had seized her upper arm in a vice like grip and propelled her forcefully into the small potions store behind her desk. Constance had barely had time to regain her balance when she heard the door slam behind her and the key click in the lock with an unquestionable finality. Constance was now so used to Mistress Broomhead's methods that she required no explanation for her tutor's actions. Mistress Broomhead's instructions were clear without ever having been spoken; the only way for Constance to exit was for her to reappear on the other side of the locked door.

She was also acutely aware of her surroundings. The potions store was a tiny square room and the closed door left her in pitch darkness. She was, however, familiar enough with the room to know that she was hemmed in on the remaining three sides by ceiling to floor shelves which were packed with every ingredient imaginable. She knew all too well that any sudden move she made could disturb any number of delicate glass jars and phials which were filled with some of the college's most expensive and dangerous potion making materials. Terrified to move more than a few inches and still hindered by her weakened state, Constance tried in vain to exit the room by magical means.

Constance was unable to tell how long she had remained in there but after what seemed like an age, she heard the lock click once more and the door swung open, causing Constance to wince in the dimming light of the summer night. Constance stepped from the potions store to find the classroom completely empty. The room was bathed in long shadows and outside the window she could see that the sky had darkened to a deep, royal blue. The air had the resonant hum of suppressed electricity which told Constance a summer thunderstorm was imminent. Unsure of the reason for her sudden reprieve, Constance hurriedly made her way to the classroom door; keen to put as much distance between herself and Mistress Broomhead as possible.

In an attempt to escape her tutor's notice, she decided to avoid the main staircase, opting instead to take the slightly longer route across the quadrangle to access the back stairs which led to the students' bedrooms. As she stepped out onto the quad, the first bolt of lightning illuminated the college in a brilliant flash of white and Constance's eye was drawn to a movement on the north turret. The turret was the highest in the college and consisted of a dramatically slanting roof which reached a point at an ornate metal spike shaped in imitation of the college crest. At the bottom of this sloped roof was a narrow parapet, little more than a foot in width before the turret fell away again in a steep circular wall until it met with the college roof some forty feet below. There was a small black figure perched on the parapet. Constance knew immediately that it was Morgana. She also realised that it was impossible for her cat to have reached the parapet herself; someone must have used magic to put her there.

In the second flash of lightening that followed, Constance could see all too clearly how terrified the cat was. Morgana's back was arched, her deep black fur standing on end from the static charge in the air and her claws were grimly gripping against the stone of the weather worn parapet. Driven mostly by fear for the only companion who had remained constant throughout her young adult life, Constance closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Summoning all the energy and focus she could muster, she folded her arms, slowly spoke the incantation and, in a sickening lurch, vanished from the quadrangle. Constance reappeared on the narrow parapet, her limbs tingling and head reeling dizzily in protest against the new magic they had just experienced. Constance pushed herself backwards until her shins were leant against the severe slope of the turret roof before jerkily bending down to clumsily take Morgana in her arms. She straightened up painstakingly slowly, still feeling lightheaded.

Constance stood on the parapet, weak with exhaustion. She tried to force her mind to focus but she was all too aware of Morgana's claws digging deep into her slender collar bone as well as the sharp drop beneath her which seemed to loom ever further with each breath. It was only after two more lightning bolts had forked their way across the sky that Constance finally summoned the necessary energy. She somehow succeeded in vanishing both herself and Morgana back to the safety of her room; clutching her beloved cat to her hammering heart. Before she had managed to do so, the lightening had only too clearly illuminated the figure of Mistress Broomhead, watching Constance unwaveringly from the quadrangle below.

"Constance, dear, are you listening" the Dean's voice broke into Constance's grim reverie.

Constance blinked twice and the remembered summer night faded from her sight as the dean's bright office came back into view.

"I'm sorry" Constance answered "what were you saying?"


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"The reason I have asked you here Constance, is to discuss your plans for the future"

As the dean looked down at the file open on the desk in front of her Constance took a minute to gather her thoughts. Until this moment, Constance had not voiced her plans for once she finished her third year. In fact, she had not even dared to let the plan form fully in her own mind. Instead she had kept her thoughts rather like snowflakes caught in the spiralling winds of a blizzard; constantly crossing over each other in an irreplicable manner and never permitted to settle into anything coherent. Her conversations with Celeste and Roberta followed a similar pattern; it was their intention to take a year travelling – to make up for Constance's lost summers - but their conversations on the matter were held in short and vague bursts which we baffling to anyone who happened to be sharing their table in the refectory. All three young women were determined that Mistress Broomhead would not interfere this time but as all three were now convinced of the tutor's ability to read the minds of her students they were trying to ensure that there was as little as possible for her to find. The situation meant that Constance had spent the past few months in a constant state of unease both in dread of Mistress Broomhead discovering her intentions and due to her own dislike of the vague and unformed nature of the plan she was investing so much in. The crushing disappointment she knew she would feel if her plan failed was enough, however, to encourage her to persevere.

Constance had not quite found the words to respond to the question posed when the dean began to speak again

"Of course, I have received your application to continue to a fourth year of post-graduate study" the Dean began, drawing a sheet of paper from Constance's file and laying it on the desk between them. "I am delighted to say we would like to make you an unconditional offer. You should be very pleased Constance as it is very rare for us to offer a place unconditionally. We normally require first class honours which we are confident you will achieve but, regardless, your achievements thus far are more than enough to make you eligible."

Constance stared in stunned silence at the piece of paper which the dean had placed before her. The form was filled in in Constance's curved script and at the end of the form was her signature, neat and without flourish. It was an undeniable record of Constance's application for post-graduate study except, of course, for the fact that Constance knew she had never filled in such a form.

"Mistress Broomhead tells me you are interested in continuing at the college after your fourth year. She has recommended you for our doctoral scholarship – I imagine you have already discussed all of this but in principle we would fund your three year programme of study and in return we would ask you to teach first and second year undergraduate classes. We only have one or two witches following this path at anyone time. Of course, you know the current candidate Miss Fairwind – she is coming to the end of her studies and we will be offering her a permanent position on the staff starting in September. Mistress Broomhead has requested that you be permitted to assist Miss Fairwind with her classes next year to prepare you for your doctoral studies which I have approved. I see no reason why we shouldn't be making the same kind of job offer to you in four years' time. Now, do you have anything you wish to ask me before we finish?"

Constance sat rigid in her chair, unable to quite believe what she was hearing. The dean was describing Constance's future plans as if the two of them had nurtured these ideas together. Constance's mind was reeling as she realised that Mistress Broomhead had been carefully orchestrating Constance's entire future; her studies, her training and a career which would span her entire adult life. Her tutor had cemented the whole thing into place without ever once consulting her or even taking a moment to find out what Constance wanted or enjoyed. Constance had to fight a wave of nausea as she realised she was about to be slotted into a lifetime under Mistress Broomhead's gaze; trapped within the four walls of the college and never escaping her tutor's ruthless and relentless control.

Trembling slightly with shock, Constance mechanically went through the required pleasantries and exited the dean's office without even registering what was being said. She strode unseeingly through the corridors, blind to the students who parted in her wake, staring and whispering behind their hands at the tall, pale girl who was generally known as Mistress Broomhead's favourite student – a position for which she was both pitied and treated with suspicion.

"Con, are you alright?"

Roberta's voice broke into her preoccupied thoughts. Her feet had automatically led her to her next class and she had joined the throng of third years waiting to enter Mistress Broomhead's Advanced Spells class. Constance opened her mouth to respond to her friend when the classroom door suddenly swung magically inwards and the chatter of her classmates died instantly to an uneasy hush.

"Enter" came Mistress Broomhead's stern voice from inside the classroom.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Later" Constance murmured in response to Roberta's quizzical look as they filed into the room behind their classmates.

Constance left her friend at the back row and made her way to her own seat in the centre of the front row. On the first class of term, Constance, Roberta and Celeste had made sure to arrive promptly at Mistress Broomhead's classroom to secure themselves three seats in the far corner of the back row with Constance in exactly the same seat she had chosen on her first encounter with her tutor two years previously. The room had gradually filled up around the three friends who each attracted their fair share of glances as their fellow students entered the room. Celeste with her striking auburn hair and ever blossoming gift for nature magic was always an unignorably strong presence; filling every room she entered like a gentle summer breeze. Roberta's casual disdain for authority and well-honed sardonic manner gave her a strangely enigmatic charm which drew people's attention like a magnet. Next to them, Constance had done her best to seem invisible and yet drew more than her fair share of staring eyes. Constance Hardbroom had grown into a willowy and striking young witch of extreme contrasts; her dark hair and features paired with her pale skin and her unparalleled magical talents coupled with a strangely fragile air caught people's attention. Her long term association with Mistress Broomhead about which she remained, to the majority of the college, silent and unemotional made her the subject of much intrigued gossip.

It had been a relief to Constance when the large classroom clock had struck eleven and their fellow students had settled themselves hurriedly in their seats, their glances finally leaving the three friends as they'd turned to face the front of the classroom. Her relief had been short lived. Mistress Broomhead had appeared at the front of the room and her gaze had fallen almost immediately upon Constance and her two friends tucked away on the back row.

"This won't do at all" Mistress Broomhead had announced her stare fixed unwaveringly on Constance "The three of you seem to have a natural gift for creating distraction and I have no intention of tolerating a classroom of distracted witches. I think it would be beneficial for all of us if you spent some time apart. Roberta Charm, you can remain where you are. Celeste Le Fey, move to the row in front. And Constance, I think you would be better here"

Mistress Broomhead had gestured to the remaining empty seat, right in the centre of the front row. Each row of work benches in Mistress Broomhead's classroom ran almost the full width of the room, with those at the far end of each row sat right up against the wall. There was therefore just one aisle, running from the door to the front of the room, and to reach her new seat Constance needed to practically climb over the other students and bags filling up her row before doing the same thing in reverse when she reached the front of the room. Constance had gathered her belongings ready to begin the arduous task when Mistress Broomhead had held up her hand to stop her.

"No Constance, not that way"

The other students had begun looking round at Constance in puzzlement, wondering how Mistress Broomhead could expect Constance to leave her current seat via any other route. Constance, however, knew exactly what Mistress Broomhead meant; she wished Constance to use her apparition magic to reappear at her new seat. Although it was now over a year since she had mastered apparition, Constance had kept her ability quiet. She was only too aware of the increased gossip that would ensue if she began to disappear and reappear about the college exactly like her tutor. With the exception of her two friends, Mistress Broomhead herself and a small number of the college teaching staff, she was certain that the majority didn't even know about this particular magical ability, never mind seeing her perform it.

"You are delaying my lesson and wasting my time Constance" Mistress Broomhead's voice had lowered to the dangerous tone that Constance knew it was best to avoid.

Her cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and embarrassment, Constance had steeled herself and then disappeared. She had reappeared on the front row to find herself surrounded by the curious whispers and glances of her classmates as she sat down, resolutely refusing to meet Mistress Broomhead's eye.

Now, eight months later Constance once again sank into her loathed seat in the centre of the front row resolutely avoiding the steely gaze of Mistress Broomhead. As the lesson began, Constance's initial shock and disbelief from her meeting with the dean gradually began to turn to anger. She barely heard a word her tutor was saying, as she quietly seethed – her boiling resentment towards Mistress Broomhead growing with each passing minute.

Constance continued in this way, paying little attention to the lesson and for once escaping Mistress Broomhead's attention until about halfway through the class when Mistress Broomhead began berating a student on the third row. In front of each student, Mistress Broomhead had conjured one of the ugliest plants Constance had ever seen. It had a gnarled, woody stem embedded with sharp thorns which opened out into a large black three petalled flower with acid yellow stamen which was surrounded by clusters of deep black berries which shone in the light - not dissimilar to belladonna. Constance knew that the plant couldn't be natural but must be magically cultivated and she couldn't help but marvel at Mistress Broomhead's ability to use her enormous magical skills to produce something so ugly. Their task was to transfigure the plant into another living creature, either plant or animal. The transfiguration of living things was a challenging enough task but, as Mistress Broomhead had informed them, it was even more complicated when the original subject was magically cultivated and thus imbued with its own power.

The girl in the third row had been the first selected to attempt the task and had incurred Mistress Broomhead's wrath when she attempted to transfigure her plant using a verbal spell. Non-verbal spells were not a compulsory element of the third year and most staff accepted either in their classrooms with the exception of Mistress Broomhead who insisted that her advanced spell class mastered the art by the second term. This was their first class after the Easter break, and Constance could see from the panicked looks on the faces of some of her classmates that this girl was not the only one who had not yet mastered non-verbal incantations.

Constance remembered her own introduction to non-verbal spells all too well. She had been about three weeks into her second year when Mistress Broomhead had decreed that she was no longer permitted to use verbal spells in their tutorials. Her method of teaching Constance had been quite simple; Mistress Broomhead had cast a spell which took away Constance's voice and then handed her a piece of paper with the counter spell; charmed so only Constance could read it. The only way for Constance to regain her voice was to master non-verbal spells. For two days she'd had to feign a bad case of laryngitis in her classes before she finally managed to perform the counter spell.

"Verbal spells are weak and lazy." Mistress Broomhead snapped at the girl on the third row "To simply announce which spell you are performing to everyone in earshot lacks any kind of magical flair; it is mundane witchcraft performed by mundane witches. Sit down at once! I have no time for mundaneness. I warn you, if any of you have not mastered non-verbal spells by my next class then it will be your last"

The words had barely left Mistress Broomhead's mouth when she vanished, reappearing directly in front of Constance who flinched in alarm.

"Constance" Mistress Broomhead fixed Constance with her steely glare "as you have barely given the lesson a minute's attention since you entered the room, you clearly believe yourself to be well-versed in this type of transfiguration. Perhaps you might deign to pay attention long enough perform the required task"

Constance drew herself to her feet and as she did so she looked Mistress Broomhead in the eye for the first time since entering the classroom. The anger which had been simmering within her for the past hour suddenly blazed white hot and without pausing to think Constance raised her hands and silently cast a spell over her plant. Immediately the plant before her was transformed into a flock of chattering black bats which swarmed towards Mistress Broomhead in a violent surge. The students around her gasped in shock and among them Constance caught a low chuckle from Roberta on the back row. Constance stood momentarily stunned by her own recklessness. She saw all too clearly the wrath on Mistress Broomhead's face before her view was obscured by the angry flock of bats. Not daring to watch a moment longer, Constance seized her bag and strode quickly from the classroom, the chaotic noise still ringing in her ears and her heart pounding in fear as she begin to anticipate the consequences of her reckless, anger-fuelled spell.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

"Bats! I attacked her with a flock of bats!" Constance exclaimed

Gwendoline Fairwind looked up from her marking in alarm as the slightly dishevelled and out of breath figure of Constance Hardbroom appeared through her office door, letting the door swing open with an uncharacteristic crash.

Constance had no idea where she was going when she fled Mistress Broomhead's classroom, but her feet had done their own bidding and led her here to Miss Fairwind's office. Tucked away under the spiralled staircase to the east tower, Miss Fairwind's office was the smallest in the college. Her door was labelled, not with a gleaming bronze plaque like the other faculty, but with a simple wooden sign, neatly carved with her name. When the young tutor had begun her doctoral studies three years earlier, there had been no office available. She had stumbled across the crowded and disused store cupboard quite by accident and one weekend, with the help of one of the young caretakers who assisted the college estate manager, had turned it into a humble but secluded office. The wooden plaque on the door had been his office warming present to her and made her smile each time she entered the room. Her desk and bookshelves had both been cast offs from the library. The desk' surface was etched with the names of dozens of previous students who had left their mark while studying. The bookshelves had both buckled with the years and strain of holding heavy reference books so that the shelves all sloped in different directions causing Miss Fairwind's books to bunch at either end. In the corner was a winged chair which had been rejected from the Faculty Common Room when the stuffing had started to burst through the seat but the deep plum-coloured velvet shawl draped over it hid the worst of the tears. The east facing window gave her light in the morning and evening when she most needed it. There was a mobile hung in the corner of the room above her desk made of sea worn pieces of glass, shell and pebble which she had collected on her weekend walks down to the beach – around six miles from the college on foot. The low spring light from the window shone on it casting dancing shadows on the sloped ceiling.

"Constance" she soothed "What is it? Try to calm down and tell me again"

Constance took a deep breath and once she had regained some of her usual calm composure she began to recount the whole story. When she had finished there was a moments silence, Miss Fairwind's eyes had widened with surprise. The corners of her mouth were twitching slightly in amusement but she composed herself as she saw Constance's genuine worry.

"If she enchanted the plant the bats are probably imbued with her magic along with yours. That probably explains why the bats were so vicious…oh but don't worry" Miss Fairwind said as she saw Constance raise her eyebrows in alarm "they'll have more of you in them than her so they won't have done her any serious harm. They'll be a powerful mix of magic though; she probably won't be able to get rid of them without your help"

"What should I do?" Constance asked

"Oh, well why don't you sit down and have a cup of tea with me?"

"How will that help?" Constance asked exasperatedly

"It's camomile, very soothing in these situations."

"But what about the bats?" Constance snapped, her temper fraying

"Listen Constance" said Miss Fairwind "you are stronger than I was. I knew it the moment you produced that vine in your first year potions exam. She hasn't managed to crush you the way she did with me. No, listen" she held up her hand as Constance opened her mouth to contradict her before gesturing to the mobile hanging above their heads "Mistress Broomhead controls people; she is as relentless as the sea on these bits of glass and pebbles. Wearing them down day by day until they are the shape they're supposed to be. But then there's you, with your vines and your flock of bats and those two friends of yours. I never managed to keep any friends, you know. You have to take control in small ways. She wants you to be panicked and fearful of what she will do next, and I am sure you are. It is what she has trained us to be. But what you can also do is sit down in this office – an office she didn't want me to have, I might add – and drink this cup of tea with me. Just for twenty minutes, let's not be Mistress Broomhead's pupils. Let's just be Gwendoline and Constance"

Constance allowed herself to be steered into the winged chair as a cup of tea magically appeared between her clasped hands.

"Gwendoline" Constance repeated "that's a pretty name"

"Thank you" Miss Fairwind replied, settling back into her own chair and taking a sip of her tea "Now, tell me Constance, what kind of things to do you like to read…"


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

Miss Fairwind and Constance made their way to the refectory for the evening meal together. Constance couldn't quite calm the churning worry that had settled in her stomach but she had to admit the twenty minutes in Miss Fairwind's office had been soothing. They hadn't said or done anything out of the ordinary, just sat and talked about books, broomstick flying, Miss Fairwind's love of the local beach and any number of other things that entered their heads. Constance couldn't remember the last time she'd had a conversation where Mistress Broomhead's name hadn't come up. It felt strangely freeing.

They were just crossing the flagged stone floor of the entrance hall outside the refectory when Constance felt a sudden vice like grip on her upper arm. She turned her head in alarm to find herself face to face with Mistress Broomhead's steely glare. Her tutor had appeared so silently beside her that Constance had been given no warning of her presence.

"I had assumed Constance Hardbroom" Mistress Broomhead began in a low, dangerous voice "that you would on your way to apologise for your intolerable behaviour in my potions class. Rather than simply strolling into the refectory as if you hadn't a care in the world"

"I-" Constance began

"I don't want to hear your weak excuses Constance" Mistress Broomhead interrupted her, using her hard grip on Constance's arm to shake her slightly.

"Please Mistress Broomhead, she made a mistake" Miss Fairwind stepped forward

"When I want your opinion, Miss Fairwind. I shall ask for it" said Mistress Broomhead, waving her hand in a quick ripple of magic which caused Miss Fairwind to stagger backwards slightly before turning her attention back to Constance. "You will come with me to my classroom Constance, and we…"

Mistress Broomhead's glance was drawn over Constance's right shoulder and she quickly dropped her grip on her pupil's arm as the voice of the dean rang out across the entrance hall.

"Ah, Mistress Broomhead. There you are!" she said, striding towards them. "I've something I need to discuss with you; perhaps you would join me for dinner?"

"Yes of course" Mistress Broomhead replied tersely

The dean's gaze fell on Constance "Are you quite well Constance, you look very pale?"

"Constance left something behind in my classroom" Mistress Broomhead replied before Constance could speak "she was just on her way to remove it"

"Ah yes" the dean replied "well hurry along then Constance, you don't want to miss your evening meal"

Constance nodded and took a few steps backwards, out of Mistress Broomhead's reach.

"I will see you in my office at 8pm sharp, Constance" Mistress Broomhead ordered as she followed the dean into the refectory

Constance nodded again before retreating towards the staircase that led to the potions labs.

"Miss Fairwind" Mistress Broomhead turned sharply to look at the young tutor who had quietly turned to follow Constance up the staircase. "Are you not joining us for dinner?"

Miss Fairwind gave an audible gasp and her hand moved quickly to the silver band around her wrist.

"Yes, yes of course" she replied shakily, following Mistress Broomhead and the dean into the refectory.

Constance could hear the bats before she saw them. Mistress Broomhead had succeeded in encasing them in a net which was draped across the top corner of the room near the potions store. The bats were clearly agitated, flapping wildly about their net prison and chattering loudly. Constance approached them quietly; sending gentle waves of what she hoped was calming magic towards them as she did. By the time she had reached them, they had settled to roost in the corner of the classroom where the stone walls met the beamed ceiling.

Constance took stock for a moment, trying to settle on the best spell to return the bats to the ugly plant they'd first been. But as she did so, she found Miss Fairwind's words echoing in her head. She couldn't turn them back into a plant, these bats had been the first bit of spontaneous magic she had done in months and Mistress Broomhead was unable to turn them back, only Constance could do that. Constance felt a small thrill of the thought of the bats staying here at the college. Unknown to Mistress Broomhead, they would fly out into the sky above her as she slept and spending the days roosting up in the tower as she taught. Constance resolved at once to keep the bats here at the college and, taking a final glance over her shoulder to check she was alone, she made her way to the small potions store.

Crouched on the ground in the tightly packed store room, she found what she was looking for on the floor tucked beneath the bottom shelf. Roberta had produced an over-zealous fire glow potion a few weeks ago which had caused one of the cauldron's to crack. Constance had been tasked with unpacking the replacement and disposing of the spoiled cauldron. She had tucked it away in the potions store in the new delivery's box intending to ask one of the caretakers to take it away but had never gotten round to it. Constance lifted the ruined cauldron from the box and tucked it back away under the shelf out of sight before taking the box back out into the classroom. She dragged a stool out from behind one of the benches and over to the corner. Then, balancing precariously on the stool which jolted on the uneven flagstones, she raised the box up towards the roosting bats. A quick wave of her hand saw the net vanish away and, balancing the box in the crook of her harm, she lifted it as tight into the corner as she could and used her free hand to gently coax the bats into the box. She sealed the box magically, adding in some air holes, before tentatively lowering herself down from the stool and onto the flagstone floor.

She hastily returned the classroom to its original state, tidying away the stool and sealing up the potions store. She then made her way over to the table beneath the window were the hideous black flowers were lined up, their berries glinting almost menacingly in the evening light. Concentrating deeply, Constance folded her arms and inwardly recited the incantation need for a duplication spell. She sighed with relief when another identical plant appeared alongside the others. Constance glanced at the classroom clock as the minute hand jerked into the five to eight position. She gathered the large box and, exiting the classroom, made her way to a small cleaner's cupboard a few doors down. She tucked the box out of sight behind a jumble of mops and buckets and closed the door behind her.

Taking a deep breath to compose herself, Constance folded her arms and disappeared. She reappeared outside Mistress Broomhead's office just as the clock inside chimed eight. Raising her hand she knocked once on the oak panelled door.

"Enter, Constance" came the grim reply from inside.


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

"I presume you have done as I told you?" Mistress Broomhead asked from where she was seated, glaring at Constance as she stood before the imposing desk.

"I have, Mistress Broomhead" Constance replied, trying to keep her mind blank as Mistress Broomhead's gazed seared into hers.

"We shall soon see" Mistress Broomhead replied, folding her arms and disappearing from where she was sat, presumably to check the state of her classroom.

Constance stood alone among the dark furniture and thick leather books. The air was heavy with the weight of magic and the large clock on the desk ticked relentlessly as she tensely awaited her tutor's return. Less than five minutes passed before Mistress Broomhead reappeared and resumed her seat.

"Very well" she said with a grim nod.

Constance gave an inward sigh of relief that her removal of the bats had gone undetected.

"If you ever perform such a spell against me in my classroom or anywhere else again, I will see to it that your magic is removed for the entirety of the Summer" Mistress Broomhead snapped in her low dangerous tone "Is that clear, Constance?"

"Yes, Mistress Broomhead" Constance replied softly

"And just to ensure that you keep your promise…" Mistress Broomhead made a quick upward gesture with her hands and the office was suddenly filled with a low mewling sound as a square silver cage appeared on her desk, inside which a black cat was pacing up and down in distress

"Morgana!" Constance cried

She started forward towards the desk, reaching out to her cat. But as her fingertips brushed the slim silver bars, they sparked a brilliant white – shooting a jolt of electricity through Constance's hand which caused her to recoil in pain.

"Providing there are no more little performances like the one today, she will be returned to you once the exams are over"

"But they're weeks away!" Constance exclaimed, unable to bite back the words as she glared hotly at her tutor, tears threatening in the corners of her eyes.

"Enough time for the message to sink in I think" Mistress Broomhead replied "Which leads me to my next point, this wilfulness will stop, Constance. I have not tolerated it before and certainly do not intend to allow it to continue. The dean tells me you have not yet replied to accept the college's offer to continue to the fourth year. You will do so before the week is out, is that understood?"

Constance made no reply, staring resolutely at the ground near her feet and causing Mistress Broomhead to narrow her eyes threateningly

"Don't think I don't know all about your plans with those two friends of yours." she said causing Constance's head to jerk up to look at her in alarmed surprise "Oh, I know you have tried to conceal if from me, and I must say your effort to deceive may have succeeded if it hadn't been for your friend Celeste LeFey. Daydreamers are so easy to read you see; she sits there in my classroom like an open book. Her thoughts practically pour out like water. You will apply yourself to your studies much better next year when the two of them are gone. But it would be such a shame if after all their hard work they were to leave here with a failed exam"

"What do you mean?" Constance asked sharply

"I have told you countless times that potion making is a precise art. It is not like chanting, where you can just make a nice noise until it feels right. Potion making requires discipline and precision which of course makes it so easy for a potions exam to go wrong. An unseen extra ingredient slipped into the cauldron, a little too much heat, or a few extra minutes passing by unnoticed and a complex potion can be ruined. And imagine how disappointed they would be when they realise they've not only failed the final exam but that their dear friend Constance is the one that sabotaged their potion"

"What?" Constance replied in a quavering voice "No, they'd never believe that I'd do something like that"

"I can make it happen Constance. You are not the only one capable of deception. Just think how I convinced the dean that you wished to remain at the college indefinitely. Two undergraduates will be so easy to convince after a powerful witch like the dean."

"You can't, you wouldn't!" Constance pleaded

"I will, unless you do exactly as I have told you. So, tomorrow you will send a polite and grateful note to the dean accepting her offer to continue next year and you will tell your friends of your decision." Mistress Broomhead ordered with a grim smile. "Do that and your friends' potion exam will continue as normal? Do we have a deal, Constance?"

"Yes" Constance whispered

"You may leave" Mistress Broomhead opened her office door with a minute flick of her wrist.

Constance took one final glance at Morgana, who had curled up in the corner of her silver cage, her golden yellow eyes gazing at Constance longingly, before leaving the office. Constance felt physically shaken as she walked away down the corridor and she was halfway to her room before she remembered the bats.

She made her way back to the empty first floor, casting a cautious glance into Mistress Broomhead's classroom as she passed before slipping into the cupboard and retrieving the box. She climbed up the stairs to the top of the East Tower. The uppermost floor was an attic, where the students could store large luggage and other bulky items during term time. Constance cautiously wended her way through the various boxes and cases, being careful not to jolt the box in her arms. She reached the arched tower window and threw it open to the night sky before releasing the magical seal on the box.

Just an hour earlier, she had imagined how this victory would feel; this symbol of her rebellion swooping out into the night sky. But as the bats flapped their way free of the box, the victory felt hollow. She stood and watched as the half a dozen bats flew out into the night sky, disappearing until they were nothing more than black specks on the fading twilight. Constance had never felt so alone.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

 _July 1985_

Constance's heart gave a small flutter as she peered over her classmates heads to see around the heavily panelled doors to the college's assembly hall. In front was a sea of black and silver, occasionally interrupted by a splash of midnight blue, deep plum purple or darkest emerald green. The air was full of an excited hush of expectation as row upon row of happy parents, grandparents and siblings waited for the graduation ceremony to begin. With a deep, resounding chord, the college organ suddenly sprang into life and the college choir began chanting the college anthem.

Constance's eyes swept meaninglessly across the rows as the assembled witches and wizards rose to their feet. There was no one here for her, to see this day that had cost her almost every bit of energy she had. The work required of her to prepare for her final exams and dissertation has taken it's toll on her. Constance knew that she was not the photogenic, glowing graduate that most families would have adorning their hearths after today. Her frame, once willowy, was now bony and angular, her pale skin had an almost translucent quality and she bore dark stains of exhaustion beneath her eyes that no amount of sleep seemed to clear.

As the chanting continued, her mind wandered to thoughts of her mother. During her childhood she had always been told what about her great talent for chanting and she wondered how it would be if her mother would have been alive to see this moment. Constance internally admonished herself for allowing such a flight of fancy; now was not the time to dwell on notions of a woman she had never known. Instead, she allowed a moment's thought for her great aunt, another great lover of chanting and a small smile came to her lips as she thought how much her Aunt would have enjoyed the formality of the occasion. To be sat just a few rows along from the Pendle-Jones' in her best hat would have given her no end of delight.

Finally, after what seemed like endless speeches, the line of class mates in front of her began to shorten as one by one the witches processed down the central aisle, mounted the stage and received their award. Constance was at the very back of the line, next to Dorothy Pendle Jones; for at the college they lined up in order of achievement, with the young witch receiving the highest marks being the final graduant to climb the stage stairs. Just four girls had received first class honours this year and Constance felt a thrill of pride as she looked at the two witches in front of her. One head with blazing auburn curls and filled with day dreams and the other cropped dark head tilted sardonically as they watch the ceremony proceed.

And suddenly, Dorothy's name was called and Constance found herself quite alone. As she teetered on the threshold of the assembly hall, watching Dorothy make her smooth and confident procession to the stage, she suddenly felt a well-known sense of unease creep into her throat. She drew her eyes upward, and they met instantly with the steely and unflinching gaze of Mistress Broomhead who was sat in the centre of the stage.

That morning, Constance had dressed with almost ritual care. She'd draped a meticulously pressed cloak over her best black dress and taken endless care to brush out her now almost waist length black hair; freed for once from the usual confines of its severe bun. Her progress had been heeded somewhat by Morgana, who had batted her paws in an intrigued manner at the shining curtain of hair cascading down Constance's back as she sat on her bed. The cat had been returned to her a month earlier and was finally beginning to trust her again. Constance had suffered several weeks of hissing and scratches from Morgana after their three month separation but she had patiently endured them and finally her faithful cat was returning to her old self.

Finally satisfied Constance had laid down her brush and picked up her pointed black hat placing it firmly on her head. As she stood to exit the room, she caught her own movement in the mirror out of the corner of her eye and paused to look at her reflection.

For the past four months, every aspect of Constance's life had felt rigidly timetabled. As her tutorials with Mistress Broomhead had stretched ever later into the night and her tutor's demands on her had grown ever more arduous, Constance had been forced to spend every spare moment in the college library, feverishly preparing for her final exams. Even once her final exam had been over, Constance had not been able to join her class mates in the sun soaked days of post exam revelry. Her dissertation, for which Constance had developed a new type of apparation spell which enabled the caster to hear and observe their destination for a shot period before appearing, had been accepted for publication in a leading magical journal and she had subsequently been approached by a publisher asking her to write a book on the subject. Mistress Broomhead had of course made it very clear that she was to be credited as an author on both volumes. The last month and a half had been spent secluded in the shadowy library writing the long, complex chapters of spells and theory; only to have them ripped a part by her tutor's relentless comments.

Now, as Constance caught her reflection in the mirror on the morning of her graduation, she was taken aback by what she saw. For three years she had endured both the demands and notoriety her tutor had brought, until eventually it had seem that being Mistress Broomhead's student was the only thing she would ever be. Now as she looked at herself, in her hat and cloak, with her dark hair sweeping down her shoulders, she saw the young witch she had become. She felt a small glimmer of hope that, one day, people might see Constance Hardbroom and not immediately think of Hecate Broomhead.

"And finally" the Dean's voice rang out across the assembly hall "first class honours, winner of the Dean's post-graduate scholarship award for academic achievement and the Grand Wizard's prize for most outstanding undergraduate dissertation of the year: Constance Hardbroom"

As the applause began, Constance thought back to the witch she had seen reflected in her mirror and, inhaling deeply, stepped over the threshold into the assembly hall. During the seemingly endless walk down the aisle and up onto the stage, she could feel the stare of Mistress Broomhead upon her but she resolutely refused to meet her tutor's gaze. It was only once she had shook hands with the Dean and crossed the stage that she dared to look around her, returning the warm smile of Miss Fairwind before descending the steps into the waiting embrace of her two best friends.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

 _September 1985_

"Are you quite alright Constance?"

Constance was assisting the now _Mistress_ Fairwind, for her doctoral thesis was now complete, to prepare for the following morning's first year potion class. Usually Constance looked forward to her time helping with the potion preparation, she and Gwendoline were quickly learning that they had much in common and the cheerful chatter worked better than any happiness tonic Constance could have brewed. This evening however, her responses to Gwendoline's conversation had grown ever shorter until eventually the two had found themselves decanting glistening black beetle wings and vivid yellow dandelion heads into glass phials in silence.

"I had another letter this evening, that's all" replied Constance, inclining her head towards the already opened envelope on the work bench beside her.

Gwendoline didn't say anything, she merely nodded understandingly before handing Constance an overflowing basket of acorns that needed to be removed from their cups.

Celeste and Roberta wrote regularly to Constance from their travels and each letter brought with it a new wave of sadness that Constance just couldn't seem to shake. At first Gwendoline had though the letters brought some bad news but that wasn't the case, quite the opposite in fact. The letters were always full of bright, vivid descriptions of the latest cobbled mountain street or bustling port and funny stories and anecdotes from their travels. The two young witches seemed determined that Constance got to share in as much of their trip as possible. The latest letter was taken up with the story of how Roberta and Celeste had got a job for a few weeks in a bakery in a small Italian village and had bewitched the oven to cook the bread in a quarter of the usual time. They said they knew the man who ran the bakery desperately wanted to sack them because they spent all their time sunbathing in the small courtyard at the back of the bakery and flirting with the boy who delivered the flour but he couldn't quite find a reason to get rid of them because the bread was always ready whenever he asked for it.

Inside the letter had also been a photograph from their last impromtu job picking fruit. The two girls were stood among the fruit bushes with a large basket gripped between them. Roberta wore jeans rolled up to her knees and a striped t-shirt stained with fruit juice, her dark cropped hair was standing wildly on end as she grinned into the camera, her eyes screwed up against the sun. Celeste looked serene in a wide brimmed straw hat and flowing green dress, her feet were bear and she wore a long chain of wildflowers around her neck. The photographs were always the worst for Constance. If things had been different, if she had been free from Mistress Broomhead's suffocating control, Constance would have probably enjoyed her time at the college for she had always had a great love for studying. But as it was, the photographs served as a regular and painful reminder of everything she was missing.

Gwendoline watched Constance as she gently coaxed each glossy acorn from its cup with her long, dexterous fingers. She knew about the bouts of melancholia that the letters brought, but over the past three years she had also observed Constance's strong, determined spirit and knew that this latest spell wouldn't last long. As Constance continued her task, Gwendoline saw the familiar signs; the crease in Contance's forehead gradually cleared and her stiffened shoulders relaxed as she grew absorbed in the familiar monotony of her actions. After a few moments, she risked asking Constance how she was progressing with her task and gradually the two fell back into the easy conversation they had become accustomed to.

Eventually Gwendoline even managed to make Constance laugh with a story about one of the first year's more spectacular potion making disaster's that morning; a billowing haze of steam which had turned somehow turned the skin of every girl in the class a violent shade of aquamarine. Gwendoline was concerned in the changes she was seeing in Constance as the term progressed; she was growing more withdrawn and, even for a young woman who was naturally reserved, her emotions were becoming almost rigidly controlled. Constance's laughter was something she so very rarely heard, so she felt a mixture of both delight and relief so see her laugh so openly; her slender shoulders shaking with mirth as Gwendoline recounted the tale.

"I see you are enjoying yourselves"

Constance's laughter died as quickly as it has appeared. Mistress Broomhead had materialised silently in the middle of the room, frowning sternly at the sight in front of her.

"Clearly" Mistress Broomhead began in a disdainful tone "if there is time for such needless frivolity then this is not a task that requires the two of you. Constance, you can come with me to my classroom and I will show you the ingredients that need preparing for my third year class tomorrow. I trust you are capable of managing this level of basic preparation on your own Mistress Fairwind?

Gwendoline nodded wearily.

"What is that Constance?" Miss Broomhead demanded, sharply turning to fix her attention back on the younger witch

Constance had silently slipped the letter and photograph from the work bench beside her onto her lap with the intention of concealing it within her bag.

"Give it to me."

Mistress Broomhead flicked her hand and the letter jerked slightly before settling back onto Constance's lap. Constance was sitting perfectly still but Gwendoline could tell from her firm set shoulders and the brightness in her eyes that she was countering Mistress Broomhead's spell with one of her own.

"Enough" spat Mistress Broomhead

She gave a stronger sweep of her hand and the bundle of paper on Constance's lap was suddenly alight with acid green flame. Constance leapt up in alarm and the letter fell to the floor where it blazed brightly for a few seconds before disappearing into nothing.

"My classroom - at once Constance" Mistress Broomhead ordered before disappearing. Leaving Constance to stare at the charred remains of her friends' letter still smouldering at her feet.


	18. Chapter 18

**Chapter 18**

 _October 1985_

It was Halloween when Constance found the book. She was sat in a shadowy corner of the college library. A swell of excited chatter and the echoing of footsteps in the corridors outside rang out through the silent library has her fellow students readied themselves to fly off to the Halloween celebrations. Constance struggled to focus on the page in front of her as the noise outside reached a gradual fever pitch. Then, quite suddenly the unruly symphony of footfall and chatter died and Constance was left alone with the library clock which immediately began chiming midnight into the silence.

Constance sighed and shifted in her seat, wincing immediately as the dull throb across her rib cage flared into a burning pain. Since beginning her fourth year, Constance's life at the college had changed quite completely. Although she still attended a small number of advanced classes, the vast majority of her time was spent as an assistant of sorts to Mistress Broomhead. Some of these tasks were more bearable than others. As well as assisting Mistress Fairwind with the first and second year potions, Constance had been given her own first year spell class and she had found that teaching was something which suited her very well. Nothing could quite compare to the thrill of seeing her students master a particularly challenging incantation. Mistress Broomhead regularly berated her for not demonstrating her authority forcefully enough when teaching but in truth Constance had very little difficulty keeping order. The first year undergraduates found the tall, pale and aloof fourth year who was so frequently to be found in Mistress Broomhead's shadow about equally intriguing and alarming.

Constance also spent a great deal of time assisting Mistress Broomhead with her tutor's own research; much of this involved replying to her seemingly endless stream of correspondence, transcribing her sprawling notes and endless repetition of new potions and spells in order to perfect them. Mistress Broomhead's most recent ongoing work was a paper on how much force was permissible against a fellow which according to the ethics of the Witches' Code. The research paper described a "willing, student volunteer" a role which Constance had been sternly told she had volunteered for. The research had involved endless evenings of Mistress Broomhead using increasing levels of magical force to position her limbs, prevent her from moving entirely and make her sit and stand at will. After each spell, Constance was made to methodically report the amount of discomfort the spell had caused her. This evening Mistress Broomhead had experimented with the amount of force required to throw a witch to the ground. She had grown impatient at Constance who took what she described as an unfathomable amount of time to pick herself up and complete the required measurements and so had cast her final, most powerful spell before Constance was fully prepared. Constance had fallen awkwardly, striking her side forcefully against the nearest desk.

Constance's side had been throbbing with growing intensity since the incident and she wasn't entirely convinced that one of her ribs wasn't broken. It would have been impossible for her to fly her broom in this condition so she had retreated to the school library in the hopes that nobody would notice her absence. The college library held an air of comfort for Constance, and on quiet evenings like this she was reminded of the long summers spent in the calm, sanctuary of her school library – it seemed like a lifetime ago. She glanced down the essay in front of her, she knew that the introductory paragraph could be improved by weaving in some of the older, more traditional magical theory which was rarely taught at the college. She leant back gently in her chair and wearily contemplated whether it was worth the inevitable pain to her ribs to get up and seek out the necessary book.

Excruciatingly slowly, Constance rose from her chair and made her way to the far side of the library. The shelves in this section of the library were partially obscured by a deep purple hanging tapestry bathing the whole corner in an indigo twilight and the shelves themselves buckled almost as much as the one's in Mistress Fairwind's office. The library's oldest books were kept in this section, most of them had remained unread for many terms a were covered with a fine layer of dust. Constance ducked around the tapestry and began scanning the shelves.

Constance knew she had seen a likely looking tome the last time she had perused the shelves. Squinting slightly in the half light, she ran her fingers absentmindedly along the slightly frayed spines finding the feeling of the books quite soothing beneath her fingertips. She slid a hefty, green volume on the Ancient Nature Rites out of its place on one of the shelves and the shelf gave a loud, creaking groan. Her attention was caught by a movement at the back of the shelf and narrowing her eyes in the gloom she could just make out the edge of a book which had obviously slipped down the back of the shelf above. Ignoring the protest from her aching ribs, Constance began to clear the surrounding books from the shelf until she had enough space to slip her hands into the back of the shelf and get a good purchase on the book. She gripped the book firmly and felt it slide free of the shelf above and slip down into her waiting hands.

She carried the book over to the tapestry curtain to give her enough light to examine it properly. It was a large grey book and well-worn. On the front, in clear black letters were the words "The Forbidden Almanac of Anarchy and Unruly Spells". Constance opened the book, sending a light cloud of dust into the surrounding air, and scanned the table of contents. Constance felt a strange tingle of excitement as she read the list of spells in front of her. She ducked back behind the tapestry and made her way back to her desk. She reached into her bag and pulled out the latest letter from Roberta and Celeste; the enclosed photograph showed her two friends on a beach, all long tanned limbs and salt tousled hair against bright white sand and a brilliant turquoise sea. She placed the book on the desk, creating a second cloud of dust, and flipped through the pages until she reached the spell she wanted: "A Spell to Hide the Truth from Prying Eyes". Constance gripped the letter firmly in her right hand and silently recited the spell. At once, the letter and photograph disappeared from sight and in their place was a brilliant white handkerchief.

Constance looked down at the Almanac in delight. It could have been years, even decades since anyone had seen this book. Mistress Broomhead, with her fixation on control and order, would surely never have given a book of unruly spells a second glance. Even though she knew she was the only person in the college, she couldn't help but glance around her in case anyone had overseen her spell. She then calmly folded the white handkerchief, secreted the large book into her bag and made her way out into the deserted corridor with a new lightness in her step.


	19. Chapter 19

**Chapter 19**

 _February 1985_

Constance would never have risked trying one of the spells on Mistress Broomhead if it hadn't been for "the accident".

Constance Hardbroom's accident had been the topic of much conversation around the college. The story spread almost like a mist, sweeping out through every corner of the college with swift efficiency. Everyone quickly seemed to know that the sling Constance appeared in at breakfast was because she had burnt her hand badly in Mistress Broomhead's potion lab the previous evening. Rumours and gossip had spread around the college at an unbelievable speed. Some believed the official story that it had merely been an accident, that Constance had slipped or become distracted while brewing a potion and caught her hand in the flame beneath the cauldron. Others claimed that the aloof fourth year had been brewing some forbidden or dangerous potion and things had gone wrong. There were even a small number of students who adamantly claimed that they had heard raised voices coming from Mistress Broomhead's classroom that evening and that perhaps the burnt hand wasn't an accident at all. Although everyone enjoyed the enticing drama of these rumours they were always ultimately shouted down as too fanciful. Mistress Broomhead surely could not get away with burning a student and even so, Constance would surely have said something. She certainly wouldn't have calmly accompanied Mistress Broomhead to her study after breakfast the very day after it happened.

In the months leading up to the accident, Constance had spent every spare moment studying the almanac. Sometimes she found herself still perusing it when the weak winter sun rose in the morning. She hadn't yet attempted anything from the anarchy section but she had made use of several of the unruly spells. The spell to divert attention in a crowd was particularly useful in diverting the unwanted stares that seemed to accompany her about the college. Short of wandering around the corridors completely invisible, which was forbidden, she could not think of a more effective spell. Her fellow students would turn towards her as they naturally did but their glances seemed to roll off her, unable to focus on her as she walked by. She had also more than once made use of the spell to save an extra minute, which seemed to slow everything around her to a quarter of its normal speed. More than once the spell had prevented her from being late for Mistress Broomhead's tutorials.

The preface of the almanac cited the all too familiar words of the witches' code: "magic is not to be used for selfish or trivial ends". The author, rather over piously in Constance's opinion considering they had written a book of unruly spells, cautioned the reader that they used the spells in the almanac at their own risk. So far, despite using several of the spells she seemed to have escaped the complications of the Dr Foster effect but Constance knew it was probably only a matter of time, and so had limited herself to using the spells infrequently and in moderation.

It was now several weeks after the accident and Constance's hand was now sufficiently healed that she needed only a thin gauze to protect the tender skin on her hand. Constance was attending Mistress Broomhead's third year potion class; they were practicing the complex potions needed for their final exam and Mistress Broomhead had demanded Constance attended to assist them with additional ingredients and "answer their stupid questions". Constance had been in the classroom since seven o'clock that morning, each pair of cauldron partners was required to make a different potion and there had been countless ingredients to prepare. She was just laying out her carefully tied sprigs of leaves on the final bench when the students began to file into the room in solemn silence as Mistress Broomhead surveyed them over her folded arms from the front of the room.

"This morning we will begin the first of our advanced practice sessions for your final exams." she began, sweeping the class with a stern glare "I say practice, but I expect the highest standard of work otherwise you will incur my displeasure. Each of you will make one of the potions from the list I gave at the beginning of term. As you will see, Constance has laid the necessary ingredients at the end of your benches."

Constance flinched involuntarily at the mention of her name, stumbling ever so slightly as she slid past the seated students towards her own seat in the far corner of the room.

"Take care Constance" said Mistress Broomhead with small, sardonic smile "We wouldn't want you to slip and burn yourself would we?"

Constance's cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and anger as the class around her broke out into whispers and the third year students stole furtive glances in her direction. A single glare from Mistress Broomhead was enough to silence the hushed gossiping immediately, but Constance silently seethed as she sank down into her seat. As Mistress Broomhead began making a demonstration potion for the class to identify, Constance suddenly recalled a simple spell she had read in the almanac just that morning. She closed her eyes and the page rose in up immediately in her mind, as if she had the book open before her: a spell to make any temperature of liquid boil over.

Constance waited until Mistress Broomhead had turned away from the cauldron to gather the final ingredients. She began to silently recite the spell and immediately the deep crimson potion rose up in a lively cloud of bubbles, writhing up over the sides of the cauldron and landing on the work bench below with a fierce hiss. The class gave a collective gasp. Mistress Broomhead whirled round immediately and for a moment she appeared to be slightly stunned. Constance saw her give a brusque shake of her head and mouth silently under her breath before jerking her head to scan the shocked looking faces of the students before her. Quite suddenly she disappeared, reappearing instantly just inches in front of Constance who gave a small start of alarm. Mistress Broomhead's eyes bored into her own and Constance desperately tried to keep her mind clear under the foreboding glare. She found herself silently reciting the spell to hide the truth from prying eyes, hoping it would work as efficiently on her thoughts as it had in hiding her letters.

Finally, Mistress Broomhead tore her eyes away. A flicker of annoyance passed across her face as she did so which told Constance she had been successful in keeping her thoughts to herself.

"Well Constance" said Mistress Broomhead in a voice low enough for only her to hear "don't just sit there. Clean it up"

Mistress Broomhead promptly reappeared at the front of the class. Constance exhaled gently and rose to her feet. As she made her way towards the store cupboard at the front of the class fetch a cloth, she tried to ignore the nervous tingling spreading across her skin. Mistress Broomhead could not possibly prove that she had anything to do with the cauldron boiling over. Nevertheless, she immediately regretted her moment of temper. It was less than a year since she had last let her anger get the better of her in this very room, and the consequences of that reckless spell had not ended well at all. Constance was completely caught up in the swirling of her own regretful panic and paid little attention to Mistress Broomhead or the class as she made her way towards the small store room.

It was only once she stepped over the threshold into the store cupboard itself that she realised her mistake. She felt a sudden draft of cold air on the back of her neck and moments later the door to the store cupboard swung shut. It was accompanied by a neat click as the store cupboard key turned in the lock with an all too familiar finality.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter 20**

Constance heard a swell of incredulous murmuring sweep the classroom before Mistress Broomhead's voice rang out through the noise

"Silence! As you will see, Constance has volunteered to test your potions. She will have no idea which of the list of potions you have attempted to make. So she will judge each, first on its appearance and then by taking a small dose. You have one hour, begin"

As the classroom on the other side of the store cupboard door returned to the familiar stilted hum of the students beginning to brew their potions, Constance felt a hot flush of embarrassment creep up her neck. No matter how forcefully Mistress Broomhead described the situation, Constance was perfectly aware that her situation would seem entirely ridiculous to any of the listening students. Being willing to taste test an entire class worth of potions was one thing, although Constance couldn't think why anyone would be want to volunteer for such a job. But to be willing to stand in a dark and cramped store cupboard for an hour in order to ensure fair judging was frankly unbelievable. Why would she not have simply left the classroom or even more reasonably not attended the class at all, and simply arrived in time for the judging at the end?

Constance knew that much of what she endured under Mistress Broomhead would seem unbelievable. It was the key to her tutor's power over her, ensuring Constance maintained a non-complicit but nevertheless mutual silence about her tutor's methods. The only grain of comfort for Constance was that her silence at least managed to contain some of the notoriety and suspicion which followed her around the college. She felt the prickle of inquisitive stares and incredulous whispers all the more keenly now she did not have the solid comfort of her two friends at her side as she walked the corridors. Constance could only imagine how this would increase when word spread about this incident.

Constance's sleeve brushed against a small glass bottle on the shelf beside her and she held her breath as glass base danced slightly against the wood before settling back into place. She was instantly reminded of another instance trapped in this store cupboard, when she had failed so spectacularly at her first introduction to apparition, something which now seemed almost as natural to her as breathing. Suddenly Constance realised she did not need to be complicit in this situation. The dark dead end of the store cupboard and the finality of the lock behind her had made her feel completely hopeless but in fact she'd had the solution to this problem all along. She could simply disappear from the cupboard and return through the classroom door in an hour's time to judge the potions. Her initial entry to the store cupboard could then seem all part of an act to add some drama to the proceedings; slightly odd but far more reasonable than Mistress Broomhead's version of events.

Knowing that frayed nerves and magic never mixed well, Constance took a few moments to focus and calm herself before summoning the internal energy to disappear. The air around her began to vibrate, picking up speed until the bottles and boxes around her appeared nothing more than a sickening blur of colour. Then, just as quickly as it had begun, the vibrating slowed and the air around her finally settled solidly around her again. Constance was still in the store cupboard. Though nothing appeared different she could feel the change in the air around her; it weighed heavy against her skin and almost pushed against her ears and eyes. Constance knew at once she would be unable to transfer herself from the cupboard. She wondered if this was what the air had always felt like to her before she had gained the ability to pass through it with such ease. She assumed at first that this magic was Mistress Broomhead's doing but then the stock phrase from her school days echoed clearly in the back of her mind: "magic is not to be used for selfish or trivial ends". Constance had known that if she kept using The Almanac, the Doctor Foster effect would catch up with her eventually. Today's spell had been reckless and, now that her anger had cleared, Constance had to admit it had also been rather pointless. It seemed the laws of magic agreed because the Doctor Foster effect seemed to have caught up with her, amplifying Mistress Broomhead's spells and holding her prisoner.

It was almost an hour later when Constance, who had settled into a half-day dream like state, heard a change in the classroom noise around her and realised Mistress Broomhead was calling time on the day's potion making. Constance drew herself to her full height and tried to arrange her features into the impassive expression she had perfected when walking through the school corridors. She could hear Mistress Broomhead ordering for silence as she stood at the front of the classroom, before her footsteps began to approach, ringing out against the stone flags. As the sound of Mistress Broomhead came nearer, Constance felt the tightness of the air around her release, the weight of it on her limbs and head suddenly lessening. It seemed to Constance that the laws of magic had taken pity on her, and firmly ignoring the rational part of her brain which was telling her this was theoretically impossible, Constance disappeared just as Mistress Broomhead turned the key in the lock.

Constance heard several surprised gasps as she reappeared at the front of the classroom and she couldn't manage to supress a small smile. Her hopes to pass of the whole incident as a bit of theatre had succeeded completely. The class had watched Mistress Broomhead pull open the door to an empty cupboard just seconds before Constance had appeared in front of them. It had all the inelegant charm of a non-magical conjurer; the magician and assistant pulling off a showy trick. It was the kind of thing Mistress Broomhead loathed. In her haste, Constance had also managed to reappear in exactly the place Mistress Broomhead usually stood to teach her classes. She could tell by the thin, firm-set line of Mistress Broomhead's mouth as she glared at her, that this accidental challenge to her authority was not lost on her tutor either.

Following Mistress Broomhead's barked instructions; Constance made her way to the first pair of students who stood waiting at their cauldron. The potion they had made was a deep, soothing blue with an iridescent gold sheen. A cloud of lavender steam rose from the potion's surface and the liquid itself was lapping rhythmically against the sides of the cauldron like gentle waves. Constance recognised it at once as an exceptionally well-made sleeping potion. Constance knew the potion would be very strong and so, after praising the pair on their potion's appearance, she let only a single drop fall onto her tongue from the glass sampling cup they had prepared for her. Almost as soon as she tasted it, she felt a momentary syrupy heaviness come over her limbs and the end of her train of thought seemed to slip away from her grasp as her mind settled into a brief moment of warm darkness.

Constance made her way around the class room, testing each potion and commenting on their varying degrees of success. In one instance, Constance thought the deep green potion in front of her, which was swirling first clockwise and then anti-clockwise in a mesmerising manner was going to be a very good example of an anti-dizziness potion. She took a confident sip and immediately had to grasp the bench in front of her as the classroom lurched violently and her entire body felt as if it was swaying. Constance had to close her eyes and wait for the sensation to stop before weakly informing the students they had added nettles instead of dock leaves, which had produced a very successful but unintended dizziness potion.

Finally, all of the potions were tested and the class were beginning to clear away their ingredients when Mistress Broomhead called for their attention.

"Wait, there is one final potion for you to try, Constance." she announced, beckoning Constance to the front of the room "Disappointingly, not a single student was able to identify the example potion I brewed this morning. Perhaps you can enlighten us all"

Mistress Broomhead handed Constance a small glass cup of deep red potion, it had a clear consistency which made it almost glow in the morning light of the classroom. Constance automatically put the potion to her lips and drank, glad this was the final potion of the morning. It was only after she had swallowed the potion that she stopped to consider what the wine coloured potion could be.

"Well Constance, would you care to share with us what the potion is?" Mistress Broomhead asked

"A truth potion" Constance replied softly.

"Correct" Mistress Broomhead gave a grimly satisfied smile before turning back to her class "A truth potion. The taker is forced to speak truthfully. Now, the effects of the potion depend upon the witch's level of self-control; a weak willed witch, of which there are many in this room, might begin speaking immediately, revealing all their inner thoughts. Those with more composure are able to choose silence. However, the potion in the hands of the right witch can be very effective, as it compels whoever has taken it to respond truthfully to any question asked. As long as you asked the right question, Constance wouldn't be able to help but reveal all of her secrets."

As Mistress Broomhead turned to dismiss her students, Constance felt the tingle of panic return. The truth potion was undoubtedly a potent one and she roughly calculated that even the small sip was enough to last the remainder of the day. Suddenly, all the thoughts that she had prevented Mistress Broomhead from seeing would be open for her to see: her hidden letters, the almanac which she had only just begun to explore, any number of past misdemeanours which had escaped her tutor's notice. But that was not all, Constance had spent four years learning, reading and honing her keen brain, she had any number of ideas for her own spells and potions which she knew Mistress Broomhead would have no qualms about demanding credit for if she knew of them. And of course, Constance was not only concerned about her own secrets, her growing friendship with Mistress Fairwind had led them to discuss Gwendoline's own mistakes, plans and ambitions, all of which she knew she must protect from Mistress Broomhead.

Constance glanced hurriedly around the classroom and her eyes fell upon the small glass cup of blue-gold liquid which had been left on the front bench. The sleeping potion was a strong one, and Constance guessed there was enough in the cup to last for 12 hours, if not more. Certainly enough to outlast the effects of the truth potion. However, it all depended on the way in which the ingredients had been prepared and brewed; taking too great a dose could be fatal. Constance doubted that any third year undergraduate could brew something fatally strong but there was no guarantee that the potion wouldn't put her into a longer, coma-like sleep.

The sound of the door shutting on the classroom which was now empty apart from Mistress Broomhead and herself caused another lurch of panic. Without time for any further thought, Constance silently picked up the sleeping potion and drank the contents of the small glass. She had a moment to think how nice it would be to sleep undisturbed – she couldn't remember when she had last had more than a few hours sleep. Then the blackness swallowed her.


End file.
